PRINTS  &  DRAWINGS  BY 

FRANK  BRANGWYN 

BY  WALTER  SHAW  SPARROW 


'THE     MONUMENT,     LONDON."     SI  UDY     FOR     THE 
ETCHING    IN    THE    COLLECTION    OF    MRS.    LYON 


PRINTS  &  DRAWINGS  BY 

FRANK    BRANGWYN 

WITH  SOME  OTHER 
PHASES  OF  HIS  ART:  BY 
WALTER  SHAW  SPARROW 


LONDON  :  JOHN   LANE,  THE   BODLEY  HEAD 

NEW    YORK  :    JOHN    LANE    COMPANY.       MCMXIX 


PRINTED    BY    WM.    BRENDON    AND    SON,    LTD.,    PLYMOUTH,    ENGLAND 


CONTENTS 


Introductory  :    Criticism,  Controversy,  and  Writing  on  Art 

I.  Emotion,  Art,  and  Frank  Brangwyn 

II.  Some  Current  Fallacies  versus  the  Brangwhtn  Etchings 

III.  The  Parallelism  between  Brangwt'n  and  Legros  as  Etchers 

IV.  His  Earliest  Etchings  ..... 
V.  Etchings  :    Simple  Landscapes  and  Wayfaring  Sketches 

VI.  Etchings  :    Windmills  and  Watermills 

VII.  Etchings  :    A  Few  Bridges     . 

VIII.  Etchings  :    Barges,  Boats,  and  Hulks 

IX.  Etchings  :    Industry  and  Labour 

X.  Architecture  in  the  Brangwyn  Etchings     . 

XI.  Brangwyn,  Art,  and  National  Welfare 

XII.  Brangwyn,  London,  and  National  Welfare 

XIII.  Peace  and  War  in  Brangwyn's  Posters 

XIV.  After  the  War  :    Reformation  and  Re-formation  :    Brangwyn  in 

Relation  to  Labour  Clubs  and  Halls 

XV.  Book  Illustration  and  Decoration 

XVI.  Brangwyn  Woodcuts  and  Brush  Drawings  . 

XVII.  Brangwyn  and  English  Water-colour 

XVIII.  Pastels  and  Other  Designs    . 

XIX.  Brancwttn's  Versatility  :  and  the  World's  Distrust  of  the  Versatile 


PACK 

I 

22 

43 
59 

78 

85 
96 
104 
117 
127 
140 
i6i 
166 
i8i 

199 
213 
224 

235 
247 

254 


LIST   OF    PLATES 


"  The  Monument,  London."     Study  for  Etching  No.  200.     In  the 

Collection  of  Mrs.  Lyon  .......  Frontispiece 

"  Shipbuilding."     From  a  Water-colour  Sketch       .  .  .  .To  face  p.       8 

Sketch    for    a    P.inel    in    Mullgardt's    Court    of    the   Ages,    Panama 

Exhibition.     {The  Blocks  lent  by  "  The  Studio  Magazine ")        .  „  12 

A  Study  of  Monks  in  Brangwyn's  Cartoon  for  a  Panel  in  St.  Aidan's 

Church,  Leeds        .........  „  16 

Study    for    a    Bookplate.     {By   permission    of   the    Rowley    Gallery, 

Kensington,  London)         ........  „  20 

"  Mowers  at  Work."     From  the  Original  Lithograph      ...  ,,  24 

"  The  Crucifixion."     A   Study  in   Coloured  Crayons  reproduced  in 

Facsimile        ...••••..   Between  pp.  28  and  29 

Sketch  of  Stone  Masons  at  Work To  face  p.     32 

Industrial   Light   and   Heat  :    "  Iron   Workers."      In  the  Collection 

of  the  Japanese  Government  ......  „  36 

"  Is  There  Truth  in  Drink  ?  "    From  the  Original  Lithograph  .  „  40 

Industrial  Stress  and  Strain  :    "  Steel  "  .....  „  48 

Example   of   Preliminary  Work  for   the    Panels  in  Cleveland  Court 

House,  Ohio,  U.S.A „  56 

"  The  Valley  of  the  Lot."     From  a  Water-colour  in  the  Collection 

of  Miss  Hope „  60 

"  Mater    Dolorosa    Belgica "  :     A    Study    reproduced    in    Facsimile 

Between  pp.  64  and  6^ 

"  The  Feast  of  Lazarus."     After  the  Second  State  of  Etching  No. 
139,  on  zinc,  28'  X  19!' 

"  Revolt."     From  a  Chalk  Sketch 

"  St.    Leonard's    Abbey,    near    Tours."       Rembrandt    Photogravure 
after  a  Recent  Etching  not  yet  catalogued       .... 

"  Building    the    New    Kensington    Museum."       Study    in    Water- 
colour  for  Etching  No.  52      ......  . 

"  Pont    Neuf,    Paris."      Rembrandt    Photogravure    after    a    Recent 
Etching  not  yet  catalogued     ....... 

"  Church  of  Notre  Dame,  Eu."     Sketch  in  Water-colour  for  Etch- 
ing No.   143.     {By  permission  of  R.  A.  IForhnaji,  Esq.)     . 

"  The    Return    from    Work   in    a    Shipyard."      Rembrandt    Photo- 
gravure after  Etching  No.   107,  on  zinc,   3i|-"  x  214"     . 

"  Men  in  a  Bakehouse  at  Montreuil-sur-Mer."      Rembrandt   Photo- 
gravure after  Etching  No.  132,  on  zinc,  20"  x   lyY'  . 

"  Coal-mine   after    an   Explosion."     Rembrandt    Photogravure   after 

Etching  No.  59,  on  zinc,  19'  X  24^" „  136 

"  Church    of  Notre   Dame    at    Eu."      After   Etching   No.    143,   on 

zinc,  30^'  X  23!" .<  144 

'•  The    Cloisters    of    Airvault    Church."      Rembrandt    Photogravure 
after  a  Recent  Etching  not  yet  catalogued 


To  face  p.    68 
72 

80 
88 
104 
112 
120 
128 


isi 


"  The  Nativity."     Study  for  Etching  No.  199        ,         .         Between 

War  Cartoon  :    "  Off  to  the  Front  "      . 

War  Poster  :    "  British  Troops  occupy  Dixinude  " 

War  Poster  for  "  L'Orphelinat  des  Armees  " 

War  Cartoon  :    "  A  Solitary  Prisoner  " 

War  Poster  :    "  Antwerp— The  Last  Boat  "    . 

War  Poster  for  "  L'Orphelinat  des  Armees  " 

The  Smaller  Postei  for  the  United  States  Navy 

Sketch    for    the    Larger   Poster    drawn    on    Stone   for    the    United 

States  Navy  ..... 

War  Poster  :    "  In  the  Belgian  Trenches  "     . 

"  A  Boxing  Match  " 

"  St.    Paul    Preaching."     Cartoon    for    a    Panel    in    the 

Christ's  Hospital,  Horsham     . 
"  Fruit-pickers."     Sketch  for  a   Panel  in   MuUgardt's  Court  of  the 

the  Ages,  Panama  Exhibition.      {The  Blocks  lent  by  "  The  Studio 

Magazine ")  ......... 

"  An  Old-time  Shipyard  "  

Woodcut  :    "  The  Exodus  "  .....         Between 

"  An   Old    Street   in   Antwerp."     Drawing  for  A  Book  of  Belgium, 

by  Brangwyn  and  Hugh  Stokes.     (Kegan  Paul  and  Co.)  . 
"  Pont  des  Baudets  at  Bruges."     Drawing  for  A  Book  of  Belgium, 

by  Brangwyn  and  Hugh  Stokes.     (Kegan  Paul  and  Co.)  . 
"  Interior  of  the  Church  at  Dixmude  "..... 
"  The    Duomo,    Taormina."      From   a   Water-colour  Sketch.      {By 

permission  of  R.  A.  Workman,  Esq.)         ..... 
"  Messina    after    the    Earthquake."      From   a   Water-colour   Sketch. 

(By  permission  of  R.  A.  Workman,  Esq.)  .... 

Study  for   Etching  No.    154  :    "  Shrine  of   the  Immaculate  Virgin, 

Messina."     {By  permission  of  Frank  Fulford,  Esq.)    . 
Study  for  a  Panel  in  the  Hall  of  the   Skinners'  Company,  London 

Betiveen 
Study  for  "  The  Blacksmiths  "....... 

"  St.    Paul   arrives   in    Rome."     Study   for    a    Panel    in    the   Chapel, 

Christ's  Hospital,  Horsham     ....... 

Sketch  for  a  Poster  :    "  Rebuilding  Belgium  "  .  .  .  . 


pp.  160  and  161 
To  face  p.  168 
172 
176 
180 
184 
188 
192 

196 
200 
204 
Chapel    at 

Between  pp.  208  and  209 


{ 


To  face  p.  212 

216 

pp.  220  and  212 

To  face  f.  224 

228 
232 

236 

240 
244 

pp.  248  and  249 

To  face  p.  252 

256 
260 


PRINTS    &>    DRAWINGS 


PRINTS  AND  DRAWINGS 


INTRODUCTORY:  CRITICISM,  CONTROVERSY 
AND     WRITING     ON     ART 

'  good  story  may  be  told  usefully 
about  an  American  visitor  in 
London,  a  dollar   democrat   and 

[dictator,  who  liked  very  much 
the  modern  movements  in  art 
and  literature.  He  had  no  wish  to  put  his  money  into  furniture 
that  belonged,  more  or  less,  to  half  a  dozen  centuries  and  countries; 
never  did  he  yearn  to  set  up  his  quarters  in  a  museum  house  as 
variously  old  as  Warwick  Castle,  nor  in  a  new  "  classic  "  mansion 
shining  with  marble  and  Portland  stone  ;  and,  more  noteworthy 
still,  he  was  discreet  enough  to  believe  that  the  Old  Masters  of 
painting  would  live  on  all  right  without  help  from  his  millions. 
Dealers  were  troubled,  perplexed,  annoyed,  astounded  ;  and  the 
millionaire's  secretary — not  a  girl  in  those  days,  but  a  plain  man 
accented  in  Philadelphia  and  sharpened  in  New  York — was  bored  all 
day  long  by  the  silken  guile  of  certain  high  financiers  of  the  Trade 
who  baited  their  traps  with  mercantile  warnings  and  costly  master- 
pieces. As  collectors  like  to  tell  themselves  with  pride  that  they  are 
expert  investors,  the  American  heard  that  modernized  art  was  unsafe, 
a  mere  quicksand  that  swallowed  up  changing  fashions.  Young 
executors  got  near  to  grey  hair  when  they  had  to  turn  yesterday's 
fame  into  gold  at  auctions.  Great  dealers  alone  were  sate  trustees 
for  posterity  when  much  money  had  to  be  lent  at  a  proper  interest 
to  the  fine  arts.  Had  they  not  for  sale  many  old  pictures  so  far- 
famed,  and  so  coveted  by  public  museums,  those  glorious  paupers  in 
the  markets,  that  a  millionaire  could  buy  them  at  their  present  Alpine 
prices  and  yet  be  aware  that  he  had  gilt-lramed  securities,  whose 
money  value  would  continue  to  leap  upwards? 

"Very  tropical,  these  old  big  boys,"  the  American  said.  "  Could  I  not 
keep  hot  in  winter,  blizzard  or  no  blizzard,  if  I  looked  at  their  prices? 
But  I'm  out  to  see  the  young  big  boys,  who're  in  flesh  and  blood  still, 

B  I 


thank  my  lucky  stars.  So  I  take  my  choice — and  go  slow.  There's 
Lutyens.  You  know  Lutyens?  He's  good  enough  for  me  in  architec- 
ture. No  Jack  and  the  Beanstalk  in  Lutyens;  he  didn't  grow  out  of 
nothing  except  magic.  He's  all  there — himself^  but  with  some  ages 
and  sages  in  him.  And  I'm  captured  by  two  or  three  British  painters. 
Not  more  at  present.  Don't  ask  me  to  be  a  hotel  where  volunteers 
lodge  and  do  what  they  please.  Some  years  ago  I  set  my  eye  rang- 
ing over  Brangwyn,  who's  as  easy  to  see  as  New  York  if  he  comes 
your  way.  Here's  my  man  in  etching  and  my  man  with  the  big 
brush.  Large  .  .  .  !  He's  mighty  large  is  Brangwyn.  Have  I  seen 
already  some  acres  of  Brangwyn.?  Maybe  more.  Yes.  And  I've 
seen  a  bit  of  him  in  the  States,  where  Nature  and  the  towns  are  all 
large :  and  Brangwyn's  in  scale.  Aren't  you  tickled  with  joy  when 
a  big  painter  in  the  States  keeps  his  backbone  and  his  own  size  and 
space,  refusing  to  be  fixed  up  as  a  pigmy  for  a  cabinet?  You  see 
what  I  mean  ?  Stars,  but  you  ought  to  see !  Let  me  fudge  a  bit 
with  words,  then.  Great  nations  and  times.  .  .  .  They  don't  need 
painters  who're  only  villages  in  genius.  What  they  need  are  big 
fellows  who're  provinces  in  genius.     You  agree?    Surely.     Gulliver's 


grand  among  the  Lilliputians;  but  tell  me  what  he  is  in  Brobding- 
nag?  Is  he  more  than  a  bit  of  human  snufF  for  a  splendid  giantess 
to  take  in  with  her  breath  through  the  corridors  of  her  nostrils? 
No!  And  I  maintain,  too,  that  our  age  is  too  much  of  a  Brobding- 
nag  for  most  painters,  etchers,  sculptors,  and  writers.  Let  me  have 
Brangwyn,  then,  and  a  few  others.  Not  more.  'Few  but  Fit'  is 
my  motto." 

One  evening  the  millionaire  talked  in  this  way  to  a  knot  of  guests — 
several  painters  and  several  writers  on  art.  He  had  seen  the  Brang- 
wyns  in  tke  Skinners'  Hall,  and  they  made  him  feel  quite  small 
enough  to  be  happy.  But  all  at  once  he  noticed  that  his  guests  were 
mum  and  glum.  They  fingered  their  bread  restlessly,  and  their 
nostrils  looked  bellicose.  The  millionaire  wondered  why.  Was 
Brangwyn  not  their  man?  Did  they  dislike  the  Brangwyn  paint 
and  colour,  opulent,  sumptuous,  alive?  or  his  lusty  manliness,  a 
generous  great  swagger  free  from  bombast,  and  as  natural  and  way- 
ward as  winds,  harvests,  and  the  sea? 

These  questions  were  to  a  friendly  evening  what  sparks  are  to  a  train 
of  gunpowder.  One  by  one  the  guests  made  F.  B.  into  their  target, 
and  soon  they  shot  their  criticisms  so  rapidly  that  volley-firing  began. 
The  American  raised  his  eyebrows  and  listened  with  amused,  ironic 
patience.  "Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said  at  last,  "you've  talked,  and 
I'll  admit  that  a  painter  you  dislike  might  write  much  in  praise  of 
deafness.  But  I  know  a  thing  or  two.  In  my  time  I've  cursed  the 
Rockies,  for  the  Rockies  don't  suit  me  when  I'm  tired,  stale,  cheap, 
and  glad  to  be  coddled  by  my  daughter.  Is  Brangwyn  too  robust 
for  you,  gentlemen?  Is  he  your  Rockies?  It  must  be  so  if  you 
mean  what  you  have  said.  But  it  can't  be  helped.  Mishaps  in 
sympathy  and  taste  come  of  their  own  accord;  but  if  Brangwyn  had 
been  born  in  my  own  country,  and  if  I  disliked  him  as  much  as  you 
do,  I  should  still  be  no  end  proud  that  he  belonged  to  the  States,  as 
I  want  the  States  to  be  large  and  great  all  round.  Besides  which, 
surely,  it's  good  to  live  and  let  live  in  the  art  of  our  own  day.  To 
be  cocksure  when  one  is  nasty  towards  a  big  man  is  to  forget  that 
the  big  man  will  be  alive  and  big  many  generations  after  I've  got 
back  somehow,  anyhow,  into  dust.  My  business  after  death  is  to 
nourish  tulips  and  snowdrops.  Let  me  alone,  then.  I  enjoy  the 
ages  to  come,  nryw — enjoy  'em  all  I  can  in  the  greatness  of  a  few  big 
men,  who  are  my  neighbours  in  the  flesh.  Faults,  failings?  Of 
course  he  has  faults,  large,  ample,  and  daring  faults!      How  could  a 

3 


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big  man  grow  bigger  if  he  had  no 
big  faults  to  correct?  Right  or 
wrong,  then,  gentlemen,  give  me 
Brangwyn!  Will  you  drink  to  his 
health?" 

Is  this  good  story  true?  In  critic- 
ism it  is,  no  doubt,  being  a  story 
with  "undergarments,"  as  mild  and 
good  old  William  Hunt  used  to 
say  when  work  had  depth  and 
substance ;  but  it  may  have  been 
in  part  invented.  Perhaps  a  satirist 
wanted  to  break  ridicule  on  certain 
painters  and  writers  who  in  recent 
years — as  if  obeying  one  of  Nature's  rules,  that  small  organic  things 
must  be  offensive,  like  bantams  and  bacteria — have  tried  to  police 
all  the  esthetic  judgment  in  vast  London,  our  nation-city.  How 
confident  they  have  been  of  their  associated  worth,  their  newness 
and  their  originality !  Upon  my  word,  they  have  forgotten  that 
only  minor  minds  yearn  to  be  quite  new  and  entirely  original, 
because  an  art  wholly  new  and  original  would  be  as  wonderful  as 
a  new  species  of  mankind. 

To  be  original,  to  have  a  style  in  the  blood,  as  Brangwyn  has  had 
since  boyhood,*  is  a  very  uncommon  birthgift,  most  people  always 
being  other  people  also  :  and  when  it  is  present,  present  as  true  genius, 
it  borrows  from  work  old  and  new,  choosing  for  its  alembic  any 
materials  which  are  useful  and  necessary.  Turner,  the  most  original 
and  various  of  modern  painters,  played  the  covetous  bee  with  passion, 
and  even  in  work  seldom  noticed  to-day,  as  in  naval  pictures  by 
De  Loutherbourg.t  And  Shakespeare  also  knew  what  was  his  by 
right  of  conquest  in  the  arts  of  other  men.  As  there  would  be  no 
vast  rivers  if  tributaries  went  their  way  alone  to  the  sea,  so  there 
would  be  no  unusual  greatness  if  big  men  did  not  collect  enough  from 
their  forerunners  and  from  their  contemporaries,  while  keeping  their 

*  Professor  Selwyn  Image,  to  whom  in  this  book  I  owe  many  debts  of  most  pleasant 
gratitude,  was  greatly  struck  by  this  fact  when  Brangwyn  was  only  sixteen.  In  those 
days,  from  time  to  time,  they  made  a  small  etching  together  or  in  company,  after  the  boy 
had  shown  his  friend  how  to  attack  a  plate. 

f  He  stole  from  Loutherbourg  his  idea  for  "The  Battle  of  the  Nile,"  exhibited  1799, 
as  he  got  hints  from  the  Poussins  for  the  "Fifth  Plague  of  Egypt,"  1800,  and  the 
"Tenth  Plague  of  Egypt,"  1802. 


own  magic  atmosphere.  Brang- 
wyn's  observation  has  ranged  freely 
through  the  arts;  he  has  collected 
much,  but  never  as  a  conscious 
copyist ;  and  digestion  being  trans- 
mutation, we  find  in  his  best  work 
few  quotations,  and  no  stolen 
plumes  dishonour  his  output. 
True  genius  has  two  aspects:  it 
appears  to  be  human  nature  in 
essence,  a  single  creative  agent  with 
a  double  sex,  its  qualities  being  in 
part  masculine  and  in  part  femin- 
ine ;  and  it  belongs  to  no  time 
exclusively.  Heir  of  the  ages  past, 
and  selector  from  all  influences  current  in  its  own  day,  true  genius 
blends  what  is  undying  in  itself  with  other  imperishable  things 
chosen,  conquered,  assimilated,  and  is  fit  to  prove  that  classics 
are  the  only  futurists.  In  Brangwyn's  genius  the  male  attributes 
hold  empire  over  the  female,  while  in  much  modern  genius  the 
male  attributes  are  too  chivalrous,  so  apt  are  they  to  yield  pre- 
cedence to  the  female  qualities.  Take  Burne-Jones  as  an  example, 
and  note  the  contrast  between  him  and  Augustus  John.  In  the 
Johannine  genius  the  male  qualities  dominate,  with  plebeian  energy 
and  a  candour  not  always  apt;  in  Burne-Jones,  I  ask  leave  to  say, 
the  feminine  attributes  often  govern  as  spinsters  always  remote 
from  common  life,  yet  never  quite  at  ease  in  their  isle  of  dreams.  A 
Burne-Jones  knight  of  the  Middle  Ages  appears  to  wear  armour  as 
a  protection  against  thorns  during  sweet  adventures  among  rose 
bushes;  and  the  Burne-Jones  women,  once  so  much  adored,  are  they 
not  maladive  and  self-pitiful,  as  if  their  only  joy  was  a  mild  pride  in 
their  ability  to  feel  unreal  grief?  To  me  it  seems  patriotic  always  to 
look  out  for  those  painters  and  writers  who  are  brave,  bold,  and 
strong,  each  with  his  own  limits  and  blemishes.  For  the  genius  of 
earlier  England  was  masterful,  our  Elizabethan  playwrights  having 
the  same  mettle  as  the  sea-rovers,  and  Milton  a  close  kinship  with 
Cromwell's  Ironsides.  So  I  am  glad  that  Brangwyn  at  his  best  has 
in  him  enough  East  and  enough  West  to  represent  our  later  England 
and  her  empire. 


11 

If  truisms  were  understood  by  artists,  writers,  and  the  people,  quarrels 
over  opinions  would  be  rare  and  our  world  would  be  somewhat  ot  a 
paradise.  Enterprise  would  be  judged,  not  as  a  thing  to  split  us  up 
into  bickering  factions,  but  as  a  thing  to  be  watched  and  discussed 
quietly,  because  it  lives  from  within  itself  or  dies  from  within  itself 
Ill-tempered  criticism  implies  absurd  beliefs :  that  violent  censure  can 
destroy  life  in  enduring  enterprise,  or  that  excessive  praise  can  keep 
life  in  perishable  novelties. 

No  student  of  the  fine  arts  ought  to  speak  in  public  about  his  likes 
and  dislikes  until  he  understands  these  and  other  truisms.  He  should 
call  up  before  his  judgment  the  mingled  benefits  and  banes  in  criticism 
and  controversy,  questioning  and  cross-questioning  his  candour  until 
he  knows  why  he  wants  to  speak  publicly  about  his  likes  and  dislikes, 
and  also  how  he  must  try  to  speak  in  order  to  be  of  any  use  at  all  to 
good  work  and  the  nation.  Let  him  get  rid  of  the  stock  belief  that 
truth-seeking  alone  is  the  ideal  to  be  made  real.*  Truth-seeking,  we 
may  assume,  made  its  beginning  with  the  first  men,  and  will  end  with 
the  final  generation;  and  what  has  it  produced?  Infinite  good  and 
infinite  evil.  Who  can  weigh  and  measure  the  harm  done  by  the 
worst  products  of  truth-seeking :  fierce  zealotries,  envenomed  per- 
secutions, anarchy  in  politics,  and  the  untruth  that  enthusiasts  rarely 
fail  to  speak?  Truth-seeking  and  truth-speaking  are  infrequent 
friends;  and  few  critics  remember  that  past  efforts  of  truth-seeking 
have  collected  a  great  many  sovereign  truisms,  which  should  be  to 
our  moral  judgment  what  clocks,  watches,  railway  guides,  maps,  are 
to  our  material  needs. 

It  is  a  sovereign  truism  that  a  day  without  a  good  fight  in  it  is  a  day 
lost.  Contention  is  a  thing  invaluable  when  just  limits  are  set  to  it 
by  sound  reason.  There  is  no  better  stimulus,  and  it  is  feared  by  the 
toadies  who  gather  about  great  men  and  often  deprave  the  develop- 
ment of  greatness.  Even  wrongheaded  combat  is  infinitely  better 
than  apathy,  and  better  also  than  overmuch  tolerance.  Nature  has 
hours  of  peace  in  years  of  struggle,  and  we  as  Nature's  children  take 
part  in  her  wondrous  duet  between  life  and  strife ;  but,  somehow,  few 

*  Robert  Browning  says: — 

"Truth  is  within  ourselves;  it  takes  no  rise 
From  outward  things,  whate'er  you  may  believe, 
TTiere  is  an  inmost  centre  in  us  ail, 
Where  truth  abides  in  fulness." 


persons  ever  take  pains  to  be  sure  that  they  are  fighting  in  the  best 
way  for  the  right  men  or  the  best  causes.  With  the  over-confidence 
of  youth  they  become  dogmatists  in  their  teens,  and  travel  on  through 
their  more  virile  years  until  they  learn  from  bitter  experience  that 
most  fanaticisms  have  the  vogue  of  fashions.  No  wonder  the 
middle-aged  are  often  younger  than  the  young;  they  have  outgrown 
those  disenchantments  that  youth  seeks  and  finds,  generation  after 


generation. 


More  than  once  I  have  talked  with  Brangwyn  about  these  matters. 
The  young  who  revered  our  pre-Raphaelites  as  masters  who  would 
govern  the  future,  were  displaced  by  youngsters  who  gave  their 
worship  to  plein  air  and  square  brushes.  None  could  say  briefly,  or 
even  at  all  clearly  in  many  words,  what  iKi%  plein  air  doctrine  was; 
but  modest  Bastien  Lepage  came  to  be  accepted  as  plein  air;  and 
around  this  humble  man  devotees  thronged,  until  the  real  Impres- 
sionists invited  and  received  more  insulting  criticism  and  slander. 
Since  then  we  have  had  many  other  innovators,  and  each  group  has 
collected  rapt  idolatry  and  virulent  abuse. 

Even  the  best  of  these  sects  wronged  themselves  often  by  being  far 
too  self-conscious,  wasting  their  energy  in  talk  as  kettles  waste  the 
motive-power  of  steam.  Their  ablest  men  live  on  mainly  at  second 
hand,  as  fertilisers,  just  as  last  year's  rain  and  sun  and  toil  live  on 
in  this  year's  harvests  and  the  bread  we  eat.  Brangwyn  borrowed 
from  Impressionists  all  that  he  required,  as  J.  S.  Sargent  took  what 
he  needed,  like  Charles  Cottet,  Lucien  Simon,  and  many  others. 
Unless  we  remember  the  defects  of  modernized  peoples — -their  self- 
absorption  and  profuse  cant,  and  their  self-advertisement — we  cannot 
be  fair  to  the  pathfinders  in  modernized  art.  Painters,  sculptors, 
authors,  craftsmen  of  every  sort,  with  only  an  exception  here  and 
there,  have  found  in  their  noisy  journalized  age  a  persistent  foe, 
whose  prying  fuss  and  flurry  have  irritated  all  weak  spots  in  their 
characters,  causing  youngsters  to  set  greater  store  by  the  cockiness 
of  wayward  inexperience.  Brangwyn  has  fared  much  better  than 
have  a  great  many  other  painters  of  his  generation,  natural  shyness 
and  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  having  kept  him  apart  from  the 
self-conscious  and  their  fluid  talk ;  but  it  appears  to  me  always  that, 
had  he  been  born  in  the  times  of  spacious  Tintoret,  or  in  the 
atmosphere  that  made  Rubens  and  the  Netherlands  equals  and  boon 
companions,  his  lot  as  a  creative  worker  would  have  been  a  great 
deal  happier  and  richer. 

7 


Even  the  huge  size  of  modernized  towns  keeps  great  men  from 
knowing  enough  at  first-hand  about  one  another ;  either  it  divides 
them  into  rival  sects  and  parties,  or  it  produces  by  reaction  a  hermit 
craze,  as  in  poor  Mathieu  Maris.  Turner  appears  to  have  been  the 
last  of  those  big  men  who  passed  through  their  evolution  as  naturally 
as  corn  grows  through  a  changeful  season ;  though  even  he  felt  that 
his  times  were  his  foes.  A  premeditated  egoism  was  all  around  him; 
and  while  one  faction  declared  that  progress  and  steam-machines 
travelled  together  at  increasing  speed,  another  faction  was  alarmed 
by  the  gathering  evils  of  industrialism  and  injustice.  Dickens  him- 
self, brooding  over  the  miseries  of  his  age,  grew  from  Pickwick  into 
a  social  reformer,  wistful  and  impatient.  Men  of  science  found 
progress  among  the  pains  of  creeping  evolution,  while  democrats 
wanted  to  snatch  Utopia  from  fierce  political  controversy,  aided  by 
fierce  controversies  over  art  and  fiercer  controversies  over  the  Re- 
nanized  gospels.  "  Lord,  what  fools  these  mortals  be !  "  as  Puck 
cries  truly  from  Shakespeare's  wisdom.  As  a  preparation  for  19 14, 
when  we  were  caught  napping  after  fifty  years  of  warning,  Vic- 
torianism  was  no  doubt  invaluable. 

Controversies  over  the  dead  are  often  necessary,  of  course,  but  what 
are  they  worth  to  living  men  and  movements  ?  It  is  a  difficult 
question.  Can  they  gain  anything  lasting  from  ill-temper,  excessive 
statement,  and  injustice?  Year  after  year  Brangwyn  would  have 
cancelled  his  work  if  he  had  tried  to  obey  the  profusely  varied 
opinions,  often  hostile,  which  have  come  to  him  as  zealous  volun- 
teers. When  he  was  sixteen  or  seventeen,  and  at  work  one  day  in 
South  Kensington  Museum,  a  famous  painter  told  him — the  hint 
was  broad  and  plain — to  look  out  for  another  career.  Most  fault- 
finding is  a  boon  only  in  matters  of  fact ;  and  it  needs  always  well- 
tested  evidence,  careful  revision,  and  sedulous  impartiality.  Really 
great  men  get  this  fact  from  their  intuitions,  and  they  like  to  be 
prodigal  in  the  charity  of  encouragement,  like  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
A  big  man  of  fine  mettle  will  defend  all  honest  work,  though  it 
may  clash  at  all  points  with  his  own ;  and  he  will  not  waste  time 
by  using  either  bastinado  or  knout  when  impenitent  dullards  and 
recidivists  worry  the  literary  and  artistic  world.  Dullards  and  im- 
postors need  banter  and  ridicule ;  bastinado  and  knout  should  be 
kept  for  those  statesmen  who  impose  tragedies  on  their  native  land, 
and  also  for  newspaper  cant,  clap-trap,  and  other  phases  of  pesti- 
lential humbug. 

8 


i 


\ 


It  is  the  small  men  who  try  to  kill  tlieir  forerunners,  or  who  snarl 
and  bite  when  innovations  offend  against  convention  and  custom. 
And  yet,  how  can  society  be  harmed  by  even  the  most  inferior 
painters  and  draughtsmen?  All  the  feeble  painters  of  a  century  do 
less  harm  to  domestic  life  than  is  done  in  a  year  by  a  tew  bad 
plumbers  and  by  shoddy  furniture.  How  tame  they  are  when  we 
compare  their  work  with  the  mischief  noised  abroad  by  industrial 
quarrels  or  by  shrieking  falsehood  in  newspaper  headlines!  Is  it  then 
worth  while  to  make  much  ado  about  inferior  prints,  drawings,  and 
paintings?  To  strike  at  them  in  fierce  criticisms  is  to  strike  also  at 
many  poor  homes  and  families;  and  what  right  have  we  to  assail 
breadwinning  ?  As  a  rule  it  is  persons  without  self-control  who 
are  most  eager  to  control  other  persons.*  As  the  east  winds  of 
humanity,  they  feel  nothing  when  they  ravage  a  victim's  inmost 
sensitiveness. 

To  meditate  over  these  matters  is  to  be  convinced  that  quiet  and 
honest  interpretation,  not  sectarian  criticism  or  bitter  controversy, 
is  the  true  office  for  a  writer  on  art  to  fulfil.  Let  him  choose  what 
he  loves  best,  and  then  let  him  show  all  its  qualities  in  order  to 
explain  why  he  loves  it  best  in  its  finer  and  finest  work.  To  be  a 
bond  of  union  between  this  chosen  work  and  the  reading  public  is 
a  useful  and  necessary  office  in  national  service,  because  art — good 
workmanship  and  great — is  only  a  hermit  when  it  is  studied  and 
liked  by  small  circles  only.  In  Ancient  Greece,  let  us  remember, 
art,  religion,  and  the  people  seem  to  have  been  almost  as  united  as 
the  air's  constituents;  and  even  the  unlettered  of  the  Renaissance 
were  at  home  in  the  varied  inspiration  that  genius  called  into 
pictorial  presence  from  the  same  Bible  stories.  To-day,  on  the  other 
hand,  so  estranged  is  art  from  the  people,  so  cloistered  in  experts, 
that  many  phases  of  fine  work  are  not  regarded  as  art,  and  many  a 
picture  show  is  visited  by  few  except  artists  and  writers  on  painting, 
etching,  and  sculpture.  The  only  picture  shows  that  "  pay "  are 
kinema  theatres.  Even  our  Royal  Academy  has  fallen  into  leanish 
years  from  the  overthronged  enthusiasm  of  the  eighteen-eighties. 
Surely,  then,  there's  need  enough  for  less  sectarian  criticism  and  con- 
troversy, and  need  enough  also  for  a  great  many  inter  prefers,  t 

*  It  is  a  fact  of  common  observation  that  men  who  have  given  their  lives  to  the  study 
of  Greek  and  Latin,  and  who  know  but  little  of  present-day  affairs,  are  likely  to  lose 
their  heads  with  pedantry  and  venom  when  they  review  current  work.     They  forget 
that  even  the  humour  of  Shakespeare  finds  pedants  wearisome. 
f  See  Chapter  I  for  a  detailed  analysis  of  what  interpretation  in  art  means. 

c  9 


In  1910  I  tried  in  a  book  to  review  the  early  art  and  life  of 
Brangwyn,*  in  order  to  show  that  adventures  in  his  life  and  sequent 
phases  oi  development  in  his  work  are  akin  and  allied.  It  became 
my  business  to  hit  out  from  the  shoulder — not,  of  course,  against 
candid  opinions,  but — against  abusive  criticism ;  my  necessary  busi- 
ness, too,  because  I  had  followed  the  evil  from  year  to  year  through 
many  thousands  of  newspaper  attacks  on  Brangwyn.  But  critics 
hate  to  be  criticized,  just  as  surgeons  hate  to  be  cases  for  an  exploring 
hand  and  knife  to  work  upon.  Thus  my  counter-attack  was  resented 
here  and  there,  some  critics  feeling  as  aggrieved  as  troops  would  be 
at  Bisley  if  a  target  began  all  at  once  to  fire  back  at  their  marksman- 
ship. Their  vanity  was  too  sensitive.  To  resent  unfair  attacks  on 
a  big  man  is  one  of  those  privileges  which  small  men  should  add  to 
their  belief  in  fair  play. 

Consider  also  another  point.  What  is  the  imagined  plot  of  a  novel 
when  we  compare  it  with  many  of  the  hard,  adventurous  lives 
through  which  artists  have  struggled  into  fame?  Romance  at  second- 
hand is  in  novels,  while  romance  at  first-hand  is  in  biography  and 
the  wonders  of  politics,  which  Napoleon  described  as  Destiny.  But 
this  greater  romance,  as  a  rule,  is  much  more  difficult  to  make  real 
in  books  than  that  which  novelists  weave  around  their  imagined 
plots  and  persons.  Sensier  made  only  a  twilight  story  from 
Millet's  romance;  he  feared  to  keep  at  close  quarters  with  his 
living  plot  and  its  great  story,  lest  Millet  should  be  hurt  in  his 
deeper  pride. 

Here's  the  rub  always.  Not  more  than  a  sketch  can  be  written  of 
the  romance  in  a  living  man's  career;  but  I  am  happy  to  say  that 
my  incomplete  sketch  of  Brangwyn's  early  life  and  work  has  not  yet 
been  overwhelmed  by  the  transitory  novels  that  come  and  go  with 
the  literary  year's  brief  seasons.  If,  then,  you  set  up  your  home  in 
the  work  of  a  man  of  genius  and  try  to  speak  about  it  as  truly  as  you 
can,  good  luck  may  come  to  you  from  your  subject,  as  Sensier  found 
a  lifebelt  in  Millet  and  Fromentin  mainly  in  that  fine,  rich  book, 
Les  Makres  (f  Autrefois. 

It  appears  to  me  that  Fromentin  is  among  the  few  safe  guides  that 
young  writers  on  art  can  read  and  read  again.  He  employs  with 
rare  tact  the  atmosphere  of  social  history  that  should  remain  around 
genuine  classics;    he  is  humbled  into  discretion  by  the  fact  that  a 

*  Frank  Brangwyn  and  His  Work:  1910.  Second  edition,  I915.  Kegan  Paul, 
Trench,  TriJbner  and  Co.,  Ltd.,  Broadway  House,  Carter  Lane,'  London,  E.G. 

10 


student's  abilities  must  always  be  lean  and  mean  when  tluv  arc  com- 
pared with  the  aggregate  of  genius  in  the  permanent  masters;  and 
he  forgets  only  here  and  there  how  swift  is  the  reaction  in  most 
readers  when  praise  and  blame  are  overdone. 

Who  can  explain  why  the  spiritual  action  and  reaction  of  these  ex- 
cesses are  neglected  studies?  Even  when  they  are  studied  with  care, 
the  ideal  mean  separating  too  much  from  too  little  in  praise  and 
blame  is  an  El  Dorado,  as  elusive  as  it  is  attractive.  Who  can  guess 
at  what  point  praise  becomes  irritating  to  most  minds,  or  at  what 
point  fault-finding  begins  in  most  minds  to  provoke  contradiction  .? 

mankind's  imagination.  And  the  best  art,  is  it  not  a  thousandfold 
Helen?  Yet  we  cannot  in  books  leave  her  graces  undescribed.  In 
some  way  or  other  we  have  to  put  into  sentences — often  death 
sentences,  too — what  we  see  and  feel  and  know  about  the  qualities 
of  great  art.  Thought  and  revision  have  to  creep  nearer  and  nearer 
to  those  epithets  and  phrases  which  are,  or  for  a  moment  seem  to  be, 
akin  to  what  we  need,  though  even  the  best  are  but  improved  false 
steps  among  perils  of  the  second-rate.  Never  are  they  better  than 
photographs  of  sunsets;  and  as  a  radiance  in  monochrome  is  not  a 
sunset,  so  the  finest  interpretation  of  art  is  not  the  whole  art  inter- 
preted: it  is  only  a  thing  allied,  affiliated,  and  a  literary  adventure. 


I  1 


No  wonder,  then,  that  praise  creeps,  while  fault-finding  flows,  into 


criticisms  on  art.* 


And  another  trouble  is  that  praise  needs  from  its  readers  a  very  alert 
sympathy  for  subtle  shades  of  meaning,  not  in  words  and  phrases 
only,  but  also  in  parallels,  analogies,  and  other  aids  to  reflective  judg- 
ment. Have  we  a  right  in  this  newspaper  age  to  expect  from  many 
persons  the  search  and  research  that  complete  reading  requires?  I 
believe  not,  most  minds  being  debauched  by  our  newspaper  Press. 
The  collaboration  between  readers  and  good  writers  on  art,  as  between 
spectators  and  painters,  sculptors  and  architects,  has  to  be  coaxed  from 
its  apprenticeship  into  a  popular  custom  and  enjoyment.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  those  who  are  skimmers  only,  not  readers,  become  impa- 
tient when  a  writer  on  art  makes  many  calls  on  their  unwillingness 
to  think  seeingly. 

How  many  persons  in  a  thousand  ever  try  to  remember  that  speech, 
written  or  spoken,  is  not  real  thought  until  it  is  seen  under  the  form 
of  visual  conception :  until  it  is  present  before  the  mind  in  pictures 
more  or  less  clear  and  detailed?  The  highest  thought,  as  in  Shake- 
speare, is  wondrously  graphic,  so  closely  is  the  vestment  of  words 
fitted  to  the  visible  drama  in  ideas  and  characters  beheld  by  the 
mind's  many  eyes.  Shakespeare  grows  from  one  thought  picture 
to  another,  often  between  commas,  and  we  must  grow  with  him  if 
we  wish  to  see  his  meaning.  In  each  of  his  best  plays  Shakespeare 
is  a  National  Gallery  in  Armada  Square. 

These  being  the  virtues  of  writing  and  the  perils  of  reading,  let  us 
turn  to  another  cardinal  truism.  Fault-finding  is  not  only  easier  to 
write  than  praise  and  easier  to  read;  it  gives  a  longer  pleasure  to 
most  persons,  particularly  when  it  is  accompanied  by  cant  about  safe- 
guarding art's  honour  and  the  public  taste.  Even  your  most  intimate 
friends,  when  you  are  praised  in  print,  are  apt  to  wonder  "how  the 
dickens  you  got  at  the  reviewers";  and  they  feel  a  half-secret  joy 
when  a  reviewer  gets  at  you  with  rapier  or  bludgeon. f  And  I  fear 
that  our  countrymen,  with  their  habitual  cant  about  peace,  enjoy 
primitive   football   in   criticism,   the  rough-and-tumble  of  knouted 

*  I  employ  the  word  art,  of  course,  as  meaning  all  good  workmanship  fit  for  its  purpose. 
Art  should  be  the  soul  of  industries  as  well  as  the  founder  of  National  Galleries  and 
Museums. 

f  A  famous  author  said  to  me  :  "  Whenever  I  am  roasted  by  a  reviewer  a  good  many 
of  my  friends  find  it  worth  while  to  let  me  know.  They  try  to  hide  their  joy,  of 
course,  but  they  can't  and  don't." 

12 


.SUKTCH   KOK  A   HANF.I.  IN   MULl.r.AKDTS  COURT 

OF    THE     AGES,     PANAMAPACIKIC    EXHIIilTION 

(Tilt  Hlxks  lent  I'y  "  The  Sttiilio  '  Magazine.) 


censure,  a  good  deal  more  than  do  most  other  peoples.  Thus  the 
French,  when  typically  French,  dislike  such  premeditated  assault  as 
Macaulay  poured  over  Robert  Montgomery.  Do  we  need  earth- 
quakes to  kill  mice?  But  lineage  tells.  In  our  language  the  verbs 
that  describe  the  giving  ot"  pain,  discomfort,  or  correction,  are  profuse 
and  subtle:  strike,  knock,  hit,  bash,  slap,  rap,  tap,  thump,  beat,  punch, 
whip,  bang,  whack,  thwack,  batter,  pelt,  buffet,  pound,  belabour, 
bruise,  chastise,  castigate,  trounce,  whop,  flog,  hustle,  hurtle,  birch, 
drub,  roast,  and  many  others.  Our  forefathers  seem  to  have  ex- 
plored for  neighbourliness  in  the  maxim:  "Bruise  the  flesh  and 
better  mankind." 

Out  of  all  these  considerations  a  few  guiding  rules  emerge.  Though 
readers,  most  readers,  like  praise  to  be  rationed,  sternly  Rhonddaised, 
and  censure  to  be  as  free  as  a  Christmas  dinner,  it  is  a  mark  of  an 
inferior  mind  to  be  niggardly  in  praise.  Another  rule  is  that  censure, 
being  easy  to  read  and  enjoy,  is  easy  to  remember,  while  praise, 
being  hard  to  read  with  understanding,  is  hard  to  remember,  so  a 
little  censure  will  cancel  in  most  minds  the  effect  of  much  praise. 
As  a  rule,  then,  let  censure  be  as  a  question  asked;  and  let  eulogy 
come  as  an  offering  to  all  from  the  honest  joy  we  feel.  Of  course, 
an  interpreter  is  bound  by  honour  to  his  readers  never  to  hide  what 


he  does  not  like  and  never  to  be  false.  But  his  tone  must  be  modest 
and  temperate.* 

Yet  there  are  writers  on  art  who  play  as  recklessly  with  fault-finding 
as  do  shrewish  women.  In  their  hands  the  word  "but"  is  a  deadly 
bullet  often,  a  sniping  shot  at  point-blank  range.  Example:  "Mr. 
So-and-so  is  a  pupil  of  the  Belgian  school,  and  his  vigour  and  variety 
are  unaffected  and  welcome;  but  his  colour  is  bad,  as  the  painter  has 
mixed  his  pigments  with  Ypres  mud."  Unhappy  painter!  Who 
cares  for  his  vigour  and  variety? 

In  19  lo  I  was  accused  of  praising  Brangwyn  far  too  little  and  far  too 
much :  and  both  accusations  were  right  to  the  persons  who  made 
them.  One  can  but  try  to  be  neighbourly  with  that  elusive  some- 
what which  prevents  excess  in  the  management  of  likes  and  dislikes. 
Some  reviewers  were  offended  by  my  use  of  the  qualifying  phrase, 
"at  his  best,"  though  it  is  necessary  when  a  big  man's  life-work  is 
shown  through  its  transitions. 


Ill 

As  the  most  reasonable  and  useful  office  of  a 
writer  on  art  is  interpretation,  let  me  try  now 
to  speak  about  what  I  regard  as  Brangwyn's 
present  relation  towards  current  movements. 
Since  1910,  two  agents  of  modernism  have 
become  well-known.  One  is  post-Impres- 
sionism, so  called,  and  the  other  is  the 
composite  art  which  has  come  with  authority 
from  Mestrovic.  What  a  turmoil  swirled 
around  these  influences  !  A  great  many 
persons  welcomed  the  post-Impressionists  as 
they  would  welcome  puppies  fringed  with 
tails;  and  who  can  forget  the  sentimental 
devotees  who  almost  wept  with  joy?  Mestro- 
vic's  followers  appeared  to  forget  the  War,  though  they  imagined 
that  his  finer  sculpture,  rotundly  ample  and  alive  with  good  health, 
came  from  centuries  of  persecution  in  the  Balkans. 
Brangwyn  was  amused  by  the  wrong  pedigrees  given  with  zeal 
to  Mestrovics  virility.     Having  studied  German  sculpture,  and  the 

*  Bacon  says:  "Too  much  magnifying  of  man  or  matter  doth  irritate  contradiction,  and 
produce  envy  and  scorn."  Hence  Dr.  Johnson  tells  us  never  to  blast  a  reputation  with 
exaggerated  praise,  nor  let  censure  defeat  itself  by  being  overdone. 

14 


Secessionists  in  Austria,  he  knew  that  our  foes  in  this  War  had  been 
tutors  in  pre-war  times  to  Mestrovic,  who  had  united  a  good  deal 
from  their  full-blooded  research  to  his  own  gifts,  and  also  to  his  study 
both  of  early  Gothic  sculpture  and  ot  Southern  Slav  traditions. 
Greek  and  Roman  sculpture  also  entered  into  the  gleanings  that 
Mestrovic  alembicated,  not  always  with  success.  A  female  nude 
gains  nothing  from  an  unwelcome  pose;  and  is  it  wise  in  these  days 
to  hark  back  to  early  Gothic  in  order  to  portray  Christ  on  the  Cross 
as  withered  and  mummified,  a  mere  skeleton  wrapped  in  shrivelled 
skin?  Is  Mestrovic  a  new  Voltaire  in  his  thoughts  on  Christianity? 
Is  it  his  aim  to  suggest  that  the  ages  have  been  as  insincere  to  the  in- 
ward spirit  of  Christianity  as  they  have  been  honest  towards  the 
fecundity  of  women  ?  Not  even  the  women  summoned  up  into  art 
by  Rubens  are  more  plenteous,  more  promiseful  of  lusty  health  in 
the  next  few  generations,  than  the  mourning  widows  in  Mestrovic 
sculpture. 

Public  monuments  alone  will  give  to  this  big  sculptor,  this  natural 
force,  such  opportunities  as  an  abundant  style  needs  in  a  swift  rise 
to  maturity.  To  keep  the  studio  atmosphere  out  of  art,  and  to  set 
limits  to  the  hindrances  that  local  aims  and  ideals  wield,  are  needs 
which  all  artists  ought  to  keep  prominently  before  their  minds. 
Brangwyn  forgets  them  now  and  then  ;  and  Mestrovic  also,  though 
he,  too,  loves  the  inspiriting  discipline  of  monumental  work.  The 
stronger  an  artist  is,  perhaps  the  more  likely  is  he  to  copy  from  him- 
self when  he  gives  his  genius  to  studio  pieces. 

Here  and  there  Brangwyn  copies  from  himself,  like  Augustus  John; 
and  among  those  modernists  who  snarl  at  the  academic,  there  are 
many  who  forget  that  he  who  copies  from  himself  is  auto-academic, 
and  as  uninspired  as  the  pseudo-classicism  of  Leighton.  French 
Impressionists  dawdled  too  often  in  autograph  moods  and  methods, 
sometimes  halting  within  themselves  like  plants  which  have  ceased 
to  grow,  and  sometimes  revolving  around  their  past  work  like  a  top 
around  its  point.  Later  pathfinders  also  have  trifled  frequently  with 
self-repetition,  and  some  have  drawn  very  near  to  automania,  like 
the  Cubists,  who  remind  me  often  of  enchanted  gramophones  able  to 
make  for  themselves  a  few  puzzled  registers.  Automatic  repetition 
is  common  also  in  post-Impressionism,  as  in  Gauguin,  whose  inferior 
work  is  but  a  variation  on  two  or  three  ideas.  Gauguin  is  an 
original  colourist  with  a  pleasant  note  in  decoration  ;  but  he  made  a 
cage  for  his  zeal,  and  too  often  his  zeal  sings  in  it  like  a  bird. 

15 


But  we  must  go  to  Van  Gogh  if  we  wish  to  see  the  primitive  candour 
and  passion  that  give  to  post-Impressionism  a  peculiar  immaturity. 
Van  Gogh  enslaved  his  pigment  and  hustled  it  as  a  menial;  his  sur- 
faces are  browbeaten,  but  his  conception  of  Life  and  Nature  is 
touchingly  sincere.  Though  his  vision  is  weak  in  focussing  power. 
Van  Gogh  had  fortunate  hours.  His  portrait  of  himself  reveals  the 
whole  man  through  and  through :  as  a  wayward  spirit  in  art  of  a 
primeval  vigour ;  as  a  rough-hewn  man  scarred  and  seared  by  suffer- 
ing; and  also  as  a  coloured  bulk  in  space  with  air  and  light  suffused 
around  it,  a  transfiguring  bath  of  atmosphere. 

What  Van  Gogh  reached  at  times  by  hard-slogging  effort,  haltingly 
and  with  much  grief,  Brangwyn  has  achieved  again  and  again,  almost 
without  premeditation,  so  unmindful  has  he  been  of  self  during  his 
productive  moods.  Some  artists  behold  as  visions  what  they  must 
needs  do,  while  others,  like  Michelangelo  and  Beethoven,  take  much 
thought  and  time  in  the  gestation  of  their  germ-ideas  ;  but  yet  the 
great  have  one  thing  in  common — they  are  unconscious  of  their 
greatness  while  they  are  doing  their  best  work,  so  wrapped  up  are 
they  in  the  joy  that  accompanies  inspired  production.  As  Milton 
wrote,  "  when  God  commands  to  take  the  trumpet  and  blow  a 
dolorous  or  jarring  blast,  it  lies  not  in  man's  will  what  he  shall  say 
or  what  he  shall  conceal." 

Poor  Van  Gogh,  I  fear,  knew  not  this  mood,  this  swift  vagrant  from 
the  point  of  home  to  the  point  of  heaven,  though  he  came  near  to 
it  in  a  picture  of  the  Dead  Christ.  I  think  here  of  Jeremiah  when 
reproach  and  derision  harry  him  all  day  long,  and  the  truth  suppressed 
in  his  heart  is  as  a  burning  fire  shut  up  in  his  bones.  What  is  poor 
Van  Gogh  in  art  but  a  rugged  and  homespun  Jeremiah,  labouring 
always  through  pain  dimly  to  express  the  true?  And  how  different 
is  the  spontaneous  emotion  in  Brangwyn's  etching  of  The  Nativity, 
or  in  his  austere  oil-painting  of  The  Crucifixion  amid  the  clouded 
radiance  of  a  malign  sunset  scowling  towards  darkness  and  earthquake ! 
In  the  babel  of  talk  about  Modernity,  please  note,  it  is  often  forgotten 
that  genuine  art  is  a  big  man's  emotion*  and  its  vision  aided  or  im- 
peded by  four  cardinal  influences:  his  temperamental  endowment, 
the  auto-customs  of  his  brain,  the  training  which  he  has  received 
from  all  the  sources  open  to  his  meditation  and  observation,  and  last, 
but  not  least,  current  history  in  all  its  phases  and  in  all  its  actions  and 

*  Emotion.  See  Chapter  I  for  an  attempted  analysis  of  emotion  in  the  arts  and  in  Brang- 
wyn's career. 

16 


/ 


<M' 


,^'''  Vi. 


'^^ 


A    SIIDS    111-     MoNK.>    IX    l;kA.\(.\\  \  N   -   i    \Ki«hjN 
FOR    A    HANKI.    IN   ST.  AIDANS  CHURCH,   I.F.EDS 


i 


reactions.  So  a  big  man's  art  at  its  best,  like  it  or  like  it  not,  is  as 
inevitably  what  it  is  as  any  other  among  Nature's  phenomena;  and 
if  at  first  you  do  not  like  it,  be  modest,  just  live  with  it  as  if  you  do 
like  it,  and  friendship  will  come. 

Letters  are  addressed  to  me  from  time  to  time  in  which  Brangwyn 
is  slighted,  as  Turner  was  slighted  ;  and  always  I  am  expected  to 
believe  that  art  exists  as  an  authoritative  conception  in  every  mind 
that  puts  into  words  some  notions  about  art,  though  art  depends  for 
her  existence  on  the  varying  gifts,  temperaments  and  ideas  with  which 
talent  and  genius  carry  on  from  age  to  age  ah  unbroken  evolution, 
sonietimes  dispersive,  at  other  times  ordered  into  long-lasting  tradi- 
tions and  developing  schools.  Never  can  there  be  an  absolute  stan- 
dard by  which  every  big  man's  art  must  be  judged,  as  every  genius 
produces  a  standard  in  part  new. 

Suppose  a  Parliament  of  the  greatest  Dead  could  assemble  near  the 
Thames,  and  suppose  it  debated  the  modern  movements  in  art  and 
literature.  Two  or  three  Cavemen  are  there,  for  they  discovered  the 
birth  of  art  among  varied  colours  and  patternings  on  and  in  a  great 
many  natural  things,  such  as  the  plumage  of  birds;  and  it  was  they 
who  made  the  first  public  galleries  of  art  in  firelit  caverns.  Side  by 
side  with  these  prehistoric  primitives  are  the  greatest  of  the  simple 
best  ones  gone,  often  separated  by  words,  but  united  by  the  universal 
appeal  of  colour,  form  and  drama.    What  would  this  Parliament  say 


D 


17 


of  F.B.  at  his  best?  Would  the  most  enterprising  of  the  elect — Titian, 
Tintoret,  Michelangelo,  Rubens,  Velasquez,  Shakespeare,  for  example 
— find  in  him  a  lineal  descendant  as  fitly  good  in  his  wayward  time 
of  industrialism  as  they  were  in  their  own  epochs  ?  I  believe  so, 
because  kinsmen  in  art  know  one  another.  They  hang  together  like 
the  fresh,  sweet  grapes  on  those  orient  bunches  which  were  carried 
from  the  Promised  Land,  every  berry  a  luscious  round  world  of 
potential  wine.* 

Yes,  and  the  germs  of  all  things  present  are  to  be  found  somewhere  in 
the  past.  Take  Caliban,  for  example,  and  note  how  akin  he  is  to 
the  pictures  now  drawn  by  scientists  of  the  apelike  progenitors  in 
man's  ancestry.  For  Shakespeare's  art  is  closer  than  modernity — 
closer  by  enchanted  miles — to  the  whole  ssthetic  truth. 

IV 

What  is  the  whole  aesthetic  truth  ?  Brangwyn 
is  amused  by  the  narrow  answers  that  writers 
give  to  this  question.  Consider  Ruskin's. 
dogma:  "I  say  that  the  art  is  greatest  which 
conveys  to  the  mind  of  the  spectator  by  any 
means  whatsoever  the  greatest  number  of  the 
greatest  ideas  ;  and  I  call  an  idea  great  in 
proportion  as  it  is  received  by  a  higher 
faculty  of  the  mind  and  as  it  more  fully 
occupies,  exercises,  and  exalts  the  faculty  by 
which  it  is  received.  He  is  the  greatest  artist 
who  has  embodied  the  greatest  number  of 
the  greatest  ideas." 

Which  art  is  the  art:  and  who  is  the  spectator? 
Has  he  a  mind  as  wonderful  as  the  aggregate  of  greatness  to  be 
studied — and  studied  in  phases  almost  innumerable — as  true  art? 
If  not,  he  is  human,  a  spectator  like  Ruskin  himself,  with  preju- 
dices, and  some  imperfect  sympathies,  and  a  judgment  not  always 
to  be  trusted.  No  such  superman  as  the  spectator  of  the  art 
has  ever  existed  or  ever  will  exist ;  and  how  is  a  great  idea  to 
be  defined?  Is  Goneril  or  Regan  a  great  idea?  Does  she  add 
to   our   material   comfort,    or   does   she  lift   us  above   our  ordinary 

*  Do  you  remember  Brangwyn's  picture  of  the  spies  returning  from  the  Promised  Land.' 
It  was  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy  in  1908.  A  noble  work  full  of  sun,  it  hangs- 
to-day  in  a  sunny  part  of  our  Empire,  the  Art  Gallery  at  Johannesburg. 

18 


selves?  Disgust  mingled  with  fear  is  the  tribute  of  just  emotion 
that  we  all  pay  to  Regan  and  Goneril.  \'ct  these  beautiful 
she-devils  are  masterpieces  of  art,  as  Nym  and  Pistol  are  among 
the  dregs  of  debased  manhood.  Not  all  great  ideas  exercise  and 
exalt  the  higher  faculties  of  our  minds.  Many  bring  comfort 
to  us  and  exaltation,  while  others  may  bring  discomfort  and 
worse  feelings  also.  In  fact,  Nature  and  Mankind  are  either 
variously  attractive  or  variously  unattractive,  or  a  diversified  ming- 
ling of  attraction  and  repulsion.  Goneril  and  Regan  are  like  those 
plants  in  which  beauty  and  poison  are  united,  or  like  those  malign 
snakes  which  are  exquisitely  patterned.  Remember,  too,  that  we  see 
them  on  the  stage,  and  not  merely  in  our  minds  when  we  read. 
Ruskin's  thought,  then,  dallies  with  only  a  few  sets  of  great  ideas; 
invaluable  sets,  but  as  certain  as  the  unpleasing  sets  to  produce  reac- 
tion if  they  are  thrust  into  a  routine  and  made  tyrannous.  To  my 
mind,  then,  the  greatest  artists  are  they,  who,  not  bestial  and  lewd, 
have  embodied  in  the  greatest  number,  with  subtle  wit,  humour, 
and  judgment,  and  good  workmanship,  the  most  varied  and  con- 
trastful  emotions,  ideas,  and  subjects. 

It  is  true,  no  doubt,  that  to-day's  prints,  drawings,  and  pictures,  like  to- 
day's books,  have  too  little  poetical  persuasion,  and  too  much  of  those 
qualities,  terrene,  penetrating,  sincere,  which  are  to  the  dark  aspects 
of  social  and  moral  truth  what  medical  research  is  to  our  physical 
ailments.  Between  right  and  wrong  in  the  use  of  a  little  more  and 
a  little  less,  our  common  lot  in  all  things  moves  to  and  fro,  a 
pendulum  swinging  between  action  and  reaction  ;  and  swinging  often 
so  fast  that  we  cannot  say  with  truth  what  is  actionary  or  what  re- 
actionary. Brangwyn  fears  that  a  rebound  from  extreme  modernism, 
already  begun,  may  renew  in  art  the  false  classic  and  the  epicene, 
with  other  manifestations  of  cant  and  claptrap ;  and  from  the  Satur- 
day Review  (29  December,  1 9 17)  I  choose  a  warning: — 

"Roughly  stated,  the  position  is  this:  the  older  idea  was  that  art  was 
necessarily  intended  to  distil  exclusively  the  noble  and  beautiful  from  life; 
the  new  idea  is  that  art  is  mainly  concerned  with  the  true,  no  matter  how 
repugnant  or  bestial  it  is.  The  only  concession  made  by  the  moderns,  in 
literature  if  not  always  in  painting,  is  that  craftsmanship  should  be  beautiful. 
Thus  we  have  with  the  old  schools"  [but  not  among  the  Dutch  and  Flemish 
masters  as  a  rule]  "a  conspiracy  of  silence  and  hush-up  over  the  gross  ugly 
facts  of  life,  and  with  the  new  a  frankness  in  expounding,  and  a  deliberate 
insistence  on,  the  crude  or  the  obscene.     Their  charter,  they  consider,  is 

'9 


their  creed  that  what  is  good  enough  for  God  is  good  enough  for  them,  and 
art,  and  that  the  great  thing  is  to  see  life  whole.  But,  with  a  curiously  in- 
complete vision,  they  not  infrequently  confound  the  part  with  the  whole.  If 
life  is  not  entirely  white,  it  is  surely  not  all  black.  Exclusive  musing  on  the 
purely  beautiful  and  noble  soon  starves  art;  but  dwelling  on  the  gross  or 
cruel  perpetually  is  no  more  nourishing.  If  it  is  humbug  to  give  out  that 
all  is  harmonious,  exalted  or  refined,  it  is  equally  misleading  to  restrict  one's 
statement  to  the  opposite  qualities." 

I  know  not  who  wrote  these  frank  opinions.  They  invite  and  de- 
serve meditation ;  but  varying  atmosphere  in  and  around  art  and  life 
rules  over  our  attitude  towards  ugly  facts.  We  accept  from  the 
Elizabethan  genius  a  great  deal  of  stark  realism  that  would  offend 
us  in  to-day's  work.  It  is  easy  to  pick  holes  in  modernity,  its  many 
very  different  atmospheres  having  no  prestige  sanctioned  by  long 
custom  and  centuries  of  transmitted  vogue ;  but  let  us  not  scratch  at 
it  with  words  like  claws,  misled  by  the  false  belief  that  excesses  of 
ugly  facts  and  ideas  in  to-day's  handicrafts  are  worse  in  kind  and  more 
repugnant  than  similar  excesses  among  those  venerable  classics  who 
remain  forever  youthful.  As  Macaulay  said :  "  The  worst  English 
writings  of  the  seventeenth  century  are  decent,  compared  with  much 
that  has  been  bequeathed  to  us  by  Greece  and  Rome.  Plato,  we 
have  little  doubt,  was  a  much  better  man  than  Sir  George  Etherege. 
But  Plato  has  written  things  at  which  Sir  George  Etherege  would 
have  shuddered.  Buckhurst  and  Sedley,  even  in  those  wild  orgies 
at  the  Cock,  in  Bow  Street,  for  which  they  were  pelted  by  the  rabble 
and  fined  by  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  would  never  have  dared  to 
hold  such  discourse  as  passed  between  Socrates  and  Phsdrus,  on  that 
fine  summer  day  under  the  plane-tree,  while  the  fountain  warbled  at 
their  feet,  and  the  cicadas  chirped  overhead." 

Let  us  be  fair,  then.  Our  current  art  and  literature  have  in  them 
much  to  provoke  regret,  yet  they  illustrate  the  swift-changing  moods 
of  our  wayward  epoch ;  and  what  need  will  there  be  tor  any  his- 
torian to  make  on  their  behalf  an  apology  as  sophistical  as  the  one 
which  good  Charles  Lamb  offered  for  the  impure  comic  dramatists 
of  the  Restoration  ? 

Still  reactions  are  capricious,  erratic,  incalculable ;  and  we  know  also 
how  buyers  are  managed  by  "  criticism  "  from  our  noisepaper  Press, 
which  advertises  for  payment  any  sort  of  shoddy  made  by  factories, 
yet  helps  many  a  phase  of  honest  effort  in  good  work  to  lose  its 
vogue,  as  if  artists  were  dresses  and  hats.      When  esthetic  fashions 

20 


STUDY    KOR    A    liOOK-I'l.ATK 
(By  permission  of  the  RmuUy  GalUij; 
Kensington) 


go,  men  of  genius  often  disappear  for  a  considerable  time;  and  a, re- 
bound from  modernism,  already  begun,  is  unlikely  to  befriend  tbat 
candour  towards  the  true  which  many  artists  and  writers  of  to-day 
reveal.  It  is  this  candour  alone  that  can  disentangle  our  country 
from  petted  and  very  perilous  defects  :  habitual  cant,  with  chattering 
self-righteousness;  and  very  culpable  negligence  towards  unwelcome 
facts,  with  other  sorts  of  debilitating  self-deception.  Brangwyn  is 
as  frank  as  Beaconsfield  in  his  contempt  for  claptrap.  No  can't  de- 
praves his  art :  an  art  bred  and  braced  at  sea,  trained  abroad  by  free 
air  adventure,  matured  at  home  by  diverse  and  intrepid  work, 
and  not  yet  at  its  meridian. 


21 


CHAPTER  I     EMOTION,  ART,  &  FRANK  BRANGWYN 


mmm 


motion  in  art  is  thought  and 
life  in  unnumbered  phases,  and 
chief  among  these  phases  are  the 
quahties  with  which  genius  and 
talent  are  endowed  from  age  to 
age.  Never  can  we  hope  to  interpret  any  artist  unless  we  transfuse 
into  the  words  we  employ  an  increasing  amount  of  his  qualities. 
We  must  let  his  work,  act  on  us  until  our  feelings  repeat  the 
modulated  emotions  that  rule  over  his  career.  In  other  words,  we 
must  try  to  see  as  he  sees  and  to  feel  as  he  feels,  then  his  best  work 
will  direct  us  always,  just  as  good  musicians  are  directed  by  the 
composers  whom  t/iey  interpret — whom  they  translate  into  ordered 
sound  from  the  gifted  silence  of  print. 

It  is  easy  to  see  when  a  writer  on  art  is  at  home  within  the  emotion 
that  his  chosen  master  circulates,  for  the  way  in  which  he  writes 
becomes  akin  to  the  master's  appeal.  If  he  writes  in  the  same  manner 
when  he  goes  from  one  artist  to  another,  he  is  only  a  diarist  who 
relates  what  he  likes  and  dislikes  as  an  egoist  outside  his  chosen  studies. 
Such  diarists  can  be  reckoned  up  by  dozens,  and  the  reading  public 
should  learn  to  scorn  them  by  comparing  their  unresponsive  words 
with  the  varied  emotion  by  which  artists  are  set  apart  from  one 
another.  What  would  happen  in  a  concert  hall  if  musicians  played 
Wagner  as  they  played  Beethoven  ?  They  would  be  ridiculed  as 
fools.  Yet  few  persons  care  when  blunders  equally  absurd  come  in 
a  routine  from  writers  on  painting  and  on  other  handicrafts.  Egoist 
after  egoist  delivers  judgments  unashamed  on  all  arts  all  day  long, 
yet  his  hearers  and  readers  do  not  join  the  striking  classes. 
But  it  cannot  be  helped.  To  listen  thoughtfully  is  hard  work,  and 
the  general  reader  skims  over  so  much  print  that  he  has  no  wish  to 
delay  his  eye-exercise  by  thinking.  He  knows  not  how  to  judge  the 
verdicts  which  writers  on  art  put  before  him  with  fluent  authority. 
And  consider  the  trade  which  writing  for  the  Press  on  art  has  kept  in 
fashion.  Exhibitions  of  many  sorts  have  to  be  viewed  and  reviewed, 
often  in  a  scamper,  and  newspapers  cannot  live  unless  they  live  to 
please.  Vulgar  ways  of  looking  at  things  and  vulgar  ways  of  speak- 
ing about  them  belong  to  the  peremptory  needs  of  journalism,  so  a 
man  who  writes  on  art  for  the  newspaper  Press  must  be  a  journalist ; 
and  since  he  is  called  upon  to  have  his  say  freely  on  many  hundreds 

22 


of  artists,  old  and  new,  his  trade  requires  trom  him  a  mixture  of 
warm  self-confidence  and  encyclopedic  halt-knowledge.  Now  and 
then,  no  doubt,  sagacious  fatuity  may  get  him  into  trouble,  though 
its  vogue  is  rarely  challenged. 

False  interpretation  is  displayed  in  a  great  many  random  opinions. 
There  are  modernists  who  seem  to  believe  that  emotion  and  current 
movements  came  into  art  at  the  same  moment.  They  tell  tlie  work! 
that  modernism  is  emotion  from  artists  and  authors,  as  though  earlier 
arts  had  come  somehow  from  paralysis,  which  cuts  off  emotion — 
either  partly  or  entirely — from  its  dynamo,  thehuman  brain.  What 
would  a  Shakespeare  be  if  a  spot  of  blood  from  a  ruptured  vessel 
blotted  his  brain.?  His  emotion  would  lose  its  potential  comedies 
and  tragedies,  just  as  Joseph  Chamberlain  lostihis  enthusiasm,  with 
his  worth  to  the  State,  in  a  stroke  of  incomplete  paralysis. 
Every  action  of  every  brain  has  its  birth  in  an  emotion,  and  the 
emotion  may  be  very  simple  or  very  complex.  If  you  say,  "I'll  move 
my  little  finger,"  the  emotion  is  very  simple;  but  if  you  say,  "I'll 
play  an  exercise  on  the  piano  with  both  hands  and  as  rapidly  as  I  can," 
the  governing  emotion  begins  to  be  manifold;  but  yet  it  is  quite 
simple  when  compared  with  the  multiple  emotion  that  sways  a  great 
violinist,  who  discovers  to  us  the  genius  of  a  composer  whom  he 
interprets,  while  revealing  his  own  mellow  gifts. 
Great  emotion  wins  from  a  violin  tones  and  notes  which  are  uncanny. 
No  Stradivarius  had  them  in  his  mind  when  he  made  the  violin,  and 
thus  the  instrument  seems  to  be  remade  and  perfected  by  a  great 
player,  who  seems  also  to  remake  the  composers  he  loves  best,  though 
he  rarely  loses  them  in  the  pride  of  his  genius.  We  see,  then,  that 
emotion  from  a  fine  violin  is  a  very  complex  art :  a  great  composer 
p/us  the  responsive  genius  of  a  great  interpreter  and  p/us  the  apt  skill 
with  which  the  instrument  was  fashioned  by  a  great  craftsman.  Here 
is  an  orchestration  of  emotions,  and  it  claims  from  us  a  fitting  sym- 
pathy in  gifts  of  the  spirit.  How  can  we  respond  to  its  appeal 
unless  we  are  other  musical  instruments  within  its  enchantment.?* 

*  It  is  worth  noting  that  Van  Gogh  used  in  a  vague  way  a  parallel  between  pictorial  art 
and  the  violin.  During  1889-90,  when  he  was  ill  at  Saint-Remy,  he  played  the  sedu- 
lous ape  with  reasonable  thought  to  a  good  many  men,  including  Rembrandt,  Delacroix, 
Daumier,  and  Millet.  He  would  take  a  print  in  black-and-white  by  Millet,  tor  instance, 
and  then  translate  freely  into  colour  the  impression  made  upon  him  by  the  monochrome. 
And  he  said,  "  Mon  pinccau  va  entre  mes  do'tgts  comme  ferait  tin  archet  iur  U  violon."  Van 
Gogh  played  his  violin  even  from  Gustave  Dore,  for  his  picture  of  the  "  Prison  Yard  " 
was  adapted  from  one  of  Dore's  drawings — "  London  :  A  Pilgrimage,"  1 872.  Is  it  not 
pleasant  to  note  this  exploring  modesty  in  Van  Gogh's  self-assertion .'' 

23 


Even  persons  who  rarely  go  from  words  into  real  thought  feel  what 
happens  when  they  are  captured  and  moved  by  noble  music.  Rapt 
in  the  other-worldly  sounds,  they  are  carried  afar  off  from  their 
common  selves.  But  prints,  drawings,  paintings,  though  musical 
with  an  orchestration  of  their  own,  make  only  a  dull  appeal  to  most 
persons,  and  for  three  reasons  mainly.  Not  only  are  these  arts 
materialized  by  their  tools  and  pigments,  and  not  only  do  they  give  a 
new  presence  to  objects  and  effects  more  or  less  known  to  all  mankind, 
and  therefore  likely  to  be  criticized  by  all  mankind;  but  also  they  are 
apt  to  set  in  motion  the  hurried  reading  habit  acquired  from  newspapers 
and  novels.  Most  persons  believe  that  pictorial  art  is  a  thing,  not 
to  stir  them  into  emotion  like  music,  but  to  be  read,  perused,  like 
printed  pages  and  photographs.     They  want  artists  to  blend  in  their 


teller's  gifts  and 
fulness  ;  and  it 
time  to  learn  that 
flower  of  all  ani- 
above  inanimate 
of  genius  has  no 
self  be  held  in 
he  sees  around 
on  our  globe  is 
he  sees  with  what 
thinks,  adding  a 
what  that  is  for 
gift  to  mankind. 


work  the  story- 
the  camera's  fact- 
takes  them  a  long 
geniuses,  the  fine 
mate  life,  are 
Nature.  A  man 
right  to  let  him- 
thrall  by  what 
him;  his  work 
to  endow  what 
he  feels  and 
wondrous  some- 
ever  his  own  new 

Yet  most  persons  wish  painters  of  genius  to  vie  with  the  many 
millions  of  landscapes  and  story-telling  scenes  which  are  framed 
everywhere  by  window  casements! 

The  useful  and  necessary  thing,  then,  is  to  persuade  writers  on  art 
that  their  difficult  duty  is  to  teach  ordinary  persons  how  to  study 
prints,  drawings,  paintings,  and  other  phases  of  the  good  workman- 
ship named  Art;  how  to  dwell  inside  the  enchantment  of  true  art, 
how  to  share  the  emotions  with  which  genius  and  talent  produce  a 
life  beyond  life.  This  duet  of  wise  feehng  between  a  student  and  his 
chosen  artists  will  never  be  perfect,  but  why  is  it  neglected  ?  Although 
a  very  wide  gap  keeps  our  artists  far  off  from  the  people,  and  also 
from  their  rightful  part  in  national  service,  not  many  real  efforts  are 
made  to  set  up  a  bridge  of  sympathy.*  Indeed,  even  artist  after 
*  I  do  not  forget  the  work  begun  in  1915  by  the  Design  and  Industries  Association, 
nor  the  patriotic  enterprise  of  The  Studio  Magazine. 

24 


-  X 
5  < 


■J.  - 


artist — and  now  and  then  Brangwyn  is  among  the  number — some- 
times fights  against  himself  by  putting  in  his  worl<.  a  staring  discord, 
which  he  would  leave  out  if  he  remembered  that  greatness  ought  to 
attract  duffers  while  claiming  from  the  wise  the  whole  of  their 
wisdom. 

Shakespeare's  groundling  audience  knows  and  loves  the  Master,  just 
as  it  knows  and  loves  sunlight;  and,  as  we  have  seen,  no  great  arts 
exist  outside  themselves  until  their  spirit  is  transtused  by  kindred 
emotion  into  an  increasing  number  of  interpreters.*  Why,  then, 
should  any  artist  obstruct  his  present  and  his  future  by  hurting  any 
just  sensitiveness  that  is  common  in  human  nature?  To  place  art  in 
the  domain  of  tastes  acquired,  and  acquired  with  slow  effort,  is  a 
blunder  made  by  many  modernists,  as  if  art  found  with  so  much  ease 
a  receptive  public  that  it  could  not  be  estranged  from  mankind  by 
overcrowding  it  with  problems  and  provocations.  In  technique, 
above  all,  many  modernists  have  been  too  rash,  forgetting  the  lesson 
of  modesty  which  Shakespeare  in  "Hamlet"  gives  to  the  players. 
iThe  passing  of  emotion  from  artists  to  their  students  is  impeded  by 
an  excessive  display  of  seasonal  whims  and  methods.  Good  school 
are  invaluable  because  their  technique  has  growth — they  and  their 
disciples  grow  up  together — while  sects  in  art  are  often  troublesome, 
so  apt  are  they  to  generate  rival  sects  by  reaction,  hindering  a  national 
study  of  ordered  change  in  the  means  by  which  good  design,  good 
workmanship,  true  art,  in  short,  is  kept  alive  and  generative. 
And  these  facts  lead  on  to  others  of  equal  value.  If  you  are  at  home 
within  Brangwyn's  best  work,  you  complete  Brangwyn's  best  appeal 
by  collaborating  with  its  changing  emotion ;  if  you  are  vot  a  guest 
within  his  best  art,  yet  pick  holes  in  it  from  outside,  you  wrong  it 
and  him ;  and  what  if  at  times  you  are  hurt  by  something  not  essential 
to  the  work  as  art .''  Then  Brangwyn  wrongs  himself  and  you  by 
allowing  a  discord  to  remain  between  his  appeal  and  your  eager  wish 
to  be  his  near  kinsman  in  feeling. 

Briefly,  then,  we  can  no  more  separate  a  painter  from  the  public 
than  we  can  separate  a  musician  from  his  audience,  or  a  playwright 
from  the  pit  and  gallery.  But  there  is  no  need  for  him  to  make 
weak  and  foolish   concessions.      Many  concessions   he   must   make 

*  Imagine  all  the  masterpieces  of  pictorial  and  graphic  art  lost  on  an  island  uninhabited  i 
and  now  imagine  their  discovery:  first  by  rude  sailors,  then  by  half-ignorant  passengers, 
and  then  by  persons  of  true  genius.  They  do  not  exist  as  known  masterpieces  until 
genius  perceives  their  value. 

E  ^5 


both  in  and  to  his  art,  but  they  are  governed  by  that  sound  judgment 
which  rules  over  all  safety  and  progress  in  human  affairs. 


II 

But  yet,  of  course,  there's  the  eternal 
hitch  between  knowing  how  to  do  and 
knowing  what  ought  to  be  done.* 
Consider  the  need  of  knowing  precisely 
what  we  mean  when  we  speak  of 
emotion  in  Brangwyn's  handiwork,  or 
in  any  other  work  that  merits  daily 
investments  from  the  uncertain  time  in 
our  transitory  lives.  We  give  our  all 
when  we  give  our  months  and  years  to 
the  interpretation  of  an  artist's  genius; 
and  yet,  so  far  off  are  words  from  the 
effects  stored  up  by  emotion  in  pictorial 
and  graphic  art,  that  a  true  analysis  of  Brangwyn's  gifts  of  the  spirit 
cannot  be  written  without  much  groping  and  many  tentative 
suggestions. 

First  of  all,  then,  let  us  try  to  put  a  ground-plan  around  this  eluding 
analysis.  To  me  it  seems  evident  that  Brangwyn's  emotion,  and 
emotion  in  every  other  genius,  ought  to  be  divided  into  four  periods: 

1.  The  primitive  period  of  childhood  and  early  youth,  when  emotion 
is  often  so  unsought,  so  unpremeditated,  so  inborn  and  instantaneous, 
that  we  may  describe  it  as  instinctive,  like  the  constructive  routine 
shown  by  bees  in  their  honeycomb,  and  by  Australian  bower-birds 
in  their  gabled  and  adorned  little  halls  of  courtship,  which  Darwin 
studied  with  glad  surprise. 

2.  The  early  period  of  conscious  observation,  research,  and  effort, 
when  emotion  becomes  manifold,  collecting  inspiration  from  a  great 
many  sources  old  and  new,  but  without  losing  its  birthright  of  in- 
tuition or  instinct. 

3.  The  period  of  manhood,  when  complex  emotion  is  exercised  and 

matured,  usually  in  the  development  of  those  qualities  that  come 

freely  from  a  dominant  passion  or  bent. 

*  Portia  says  :  "  If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good  to  do,  chapels  had 
been  churches,  and  poor  men's  cottages  princes'  palaces.  ...  I  can  easier  teach  twenty 
what  were  good  to  be  done,  than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching." 

26 


4-  The  period  of  middle-age,  when  emotion  is  Hkely  to  be  chastened 
by  a  gradual  change  in  the  mind's  outlook,  concentration  becoming 
easier  as  ideas  become  less  frequent  and  less  tyrannous.* 

Brangwyn  has  passed  through  three  of  these  periods,  and  has  made 
two  or  three  steps  into  the  tourth. 

Further,  it  is  my  belief  that  the  emotion  in  a  true  artist's  happy  toil 
ought  to  be  ^summed  up  in  two  phases:  his  moods  and  what  I  ven- 
ture to  call  his  technical  inspiration.  Let  us  now  try  to  learn  how 
these  two  phases  are  to  be  viewed  by  minds  that  see  clearly. 
Brangwyn  talks  about  his  moods,  like  every  other  artist.  What 
does  he  mean-f"  Now  and  then  he  mav  mean  no  more  than  that  he 
is  fit  for  work  and  eager  to  be  busy ;  as  all  artists,  somehow,  from 
time  to  time,  pay  a  tax  of  days  to  idleness,  rather  than  learn  that  a 
desire  to  work  will  come  in  working,  like  warmth  on  a  cold  day  from 
exercise.  Poor  Dalziel,  the  engraver,  needed  about  fifteen  years  in 
which  to  collect  the  drawings  which  he  had  commissioned  for  his 
book  of  Bible  pictures.  But  there  are  other  moods,  and  they  mean 
definite  things  in  productive  w^ork,  and  notably  the  points  of  view 
from  which  an  artist  will  see  and  feel  his  chosen  motif. 
During  these  sagacious  moods  he  will  choose  the  key  in  which  he 
will  harmonise  his  etfects,  and  will  get  what  we  may  call  his  outward 
emotion,  or  envelope  of  emotion,  with  which  to  surround  the  inward 
and  spiritual  appeal  that  a  fine  motif  makes  to  everyone. 
This  union  between  the  envelope  emotion,  or  mood,  and  the  inward 
emotion  either  suggested  by  or  resident  in  a  well-chosen  motif, 
marks  the  threshold  from  which  students  of  art  can  enter  as  friends 
into  the  homes  that  genius  makes  for  itself  in  work  achiev^ed. 
Already  I  have  spoken  about  Brangwyn's  painting  of  The  Cruci- 
fixion (p.  1 6).  Let  us  take  it  again  as  an  example,  for  the  same 
tremendous  epic  is  repeated,  with  variations,  by  an  etching  (No.  19  5) 
and  several  large  drawings. 

The  subject  here  has  an  enthralling  inward  emotion  felt  by  all  true 
Christians,  felt  in  a  way  so  very  similar  that  we  may  speak  of  it  as 
the  same  way.  Great  reverence  and  wondrous  awe,  with  terror  and 
humbled  pity,  dwell  in  the  emotion  that  reigns  within  the  Calvary 
of  our  Faith.     But  moods  of  many  varied  sorts  can  and  do  envelop 

*  A  few  artists  have  lived  to  enjoy  a  fifth  period — the  one  of  virile  old  age,  when  to  the 
concentration  of  middle  life  a  happy  and  strong  mind  adds  many  youthful  memories.  Ce 
retour  au  berceati,  as  the  French  call  it,  inspired  all  the  most  personal  work  done  by 
Poussin  (1594-^1665). 

27 


this  emotion,  just  as  mists  of  differing  tints  hang  from  day  to  day 
around  the  same  wild  sinister  gorge  in  the  darkhng  hills  at  sunset. 
My  own  mood  is  a  fear  that  Man,  cursed  by  his  ill-used  brain,  is  for 
ever  as  great  a  foe  to  himself  as  he  was  to  the  Highest  that  put 
divine  trust  in  him.  During  this  mood  the  Calvary  of  our  Faith  is 
the  place  where  Christianity  sets  and  dawns  with  the  day's  light, 
always  to  find  among  men  the  same  lust  of  cruel  self-will  in  the  same 
blind  confidence.  From  day  to  day  Golgotha  is  mankind  self- 
crucified  amid  the  eternity  of  forgiveness  that  is  Christ. 
But  an  emotion  made  up  of  awe,  reverence,  humbled  pity  and  terror, 
with  a  just  and  terrible  fear  of  our  common  human  nature,  will  evoke 
from  every  artist  a  different  mood,  or  veil  of  sentiment.  In  Brang- 
wyn's  austere  vision,  with  its  strangely  rustic  fervour,  its  abrupt 
nobleness,  the  mood  emotion  comes  from  that  ineffable  contrast 
between  the  invaded  gentleness  of  Christ  and  the  coarse  strife  of 
humanity  personified  by  one  of  the  two  malefactors.  Here  the 
poetry  is  a  dramatizing  realism,  rough-hewn,  stormful,  vehement, 
but  as  reverent  as  Rembrandt's  divine  homespun,  and  almost  as  con- 
temporary with  the  awful  drama  as  a  soldier  is  with  the  deafening 
bombardment  around  him,  that  produces  in  a  few  hours  a  thousand- 
fold hell. 

If  Brangwyn  had  painted  an  idealist  dream  of  The  Crucifixion,  he 
would  not  have  transferred  the  two  thieves  from  the  Gospels  to  his 
picture,  his  etching  and  his  drawings;  but  his  mood  is  true  and  noble. 
The  only  idealism  in  the  Gospel  stories  of  The  Crucifixion  is  the 
reserve  shown  by  St.  John  when  Jesus  bows  His  head  and  gives  up 
the  ghost.  Matthew,  Mark,  and  Luke  have  no  reserve ;  they  cause 
Nature,  or  the  Divinity  active  in  Nature,  to  rebel  against  the  second 
great  fall  of  human  reason,  which  ought  always  to  recover  from  Christ 
the  Paradise  lost  in  Eden.  Brangwyn's  tragedian  vision  could  have 
been  still  more  realistic  without  equalling  the  care  with  which  three 
of  the  Gospels  speak  of  the  sudden  earthquake  and  reveal  among  the 
onlookers  a  cold  curiosity  mingled  with  depraved  mocking  and  satire. 
As  for  Brangwyn's  etching  of  The  Crucifixion,  it  is  more  insistent 
than  his  oil  painting,  and  more  so  than  his  coloured  drawings  are, 
as  black  and  white  give  a  somewhat  dogmatic  force  or  blow  to  im- 
passioned realism ;  and  I  confess  to  being  worried  a  little  by  the 
workman  on  the  ladder  and  by  the  faces  of  two  onlookers,  though 
I  understand  that  this  etching,  like  Rembrandt's  broad  and  rapi'd 
"Three   Crosses,"  otherwise  known   as  "Christ   Crucified  between 

28 


n 


mmSaat^l^imitf^in-'rrti^  ■  -.~..~,>r,i 


TItE  CKftll'IXlON 
STUDY  FOB  THB 
PAINTING 


Two  Thieves,"  must  be  viewed  synthetically,  as  a  whole,  and  not  hit 
by  bit.  The  great  aquaduct  in  the  background  is  well  placed  and 
finely  symbolic,  since  an  aquaduct  is  a  bridge  that  conveys  water  to 
the  thirsty,  and  since  the  ancient  Roman  power  lingers  on  still  in 
timeworn  aquaducts  and  bridges. 

For  the  rest,  this  etching,  like  the  oil-painting  or  the  chalk  drawings, 
is  as  original  as  honour  and  reverence  in  art  can  be.  It  is  not  a 
translation  from  the  Italian  Old  Masters,  nor  a  dream-tragedy  from 
a  dateless  period,  nor  is  it  surrounded  by  the  time  fashions  of  our 
Saviour's  brief  stay  on  earth.  The  whole  tragedy  is  contemporaneous 
with  ourselves,  like  Christianity;  and  thus  we  cannot  help  thinking 
of  Rembrandt,  who  reveals  the  story  of  Jesus  among  the  good  Dutch, 
and  thinks  always  of  Jesus  as  the  Son  of  Man  among  humbh;  and 
common  lives. 

This  attitude  of  faith  is  not  understood  by  a  great  many  persons. 
Even  Hamerton,  in  his  well-known  essay  on  Rembrandt's  etchings, 
stands  outside  it  here  and  there  as  a  note-taker,  instead  of  penetrating 
into  the  hidden  essence  and  the  life  of  the  most  humane  artist  that 
our  world  has  been  privileged  to  see.  "When  the  voice  is  silenced," 
Hamerton  says,  "a  pathetic  little  group  bears  the  body,  tortured  no 
longer,  to  its  resting-place.  This  scene  is  represented  in  a  little 
etching,  'Christ's  Body  carried  to  the  Tomb,'  in  which  the  simple- 
hearted,  affectionate  followers  are  unconscious  that  theirs  is  the 
grandest  funeral  procession  of  all  time."  This  last  idea  shows  how 
far  off  Hamerton  is  now  and  then  from  Rembrandt's  scriptural  art. 
"The  grandest  funeral  procession  of  all  time!"  Could  any  idea  be 
less  likely  to  find  a  home  in  Rembrandt's  imagination  ?  His  great 
heart  seems  to  carry  in  it  all  the  sorrow  known  to  mankind,  and  his 
small  etching  of  The  Entombment  had  a  very  simple  and  beautiful 
origin.  Once  a  year  the  humble  were  called  upon  to  imagine  the 
burial  of  Christ  and  to  feel,  by  an  effort  of  imaginative  faith  and  love, 
its  awe  and  mystery;  and  Rembrandt,  deeply  moved  by  this  act  of 
commemorative  devotion,  tried  to  show,  in  a  rapid  sketch  on  copper, 
how  the  poor  of  his  own  day  were  present  once  a  year  in  the  garden 
where  Jesus  was  laid  in  a  new  sepulchre  hewn  out  of  a  rock. 
Rembrandt's  heaven-worthiness,  wondrously  rustic  and  homeful,  with 
its  original  attitude  towards  the  Gospel  story,  has  been  a  stimulus  to 
a  good  many  modern  artists,  ranging  from  Millet's  "  Flight  into 
Egypt"  to  Legros'  "Prodigal  Son"  and  Fritz  von  Uhde's  pictures; 
and  many  will  remember  a  most  winsome  and  poetical  painting  by 

29 


Maurice  Denis,  "Notre  Dame  de  I'Ecole."  But  it  is  Brangwyn  who 
has  given  the  most  ample  body  and  purpose  to  the  Rembrandt  mood 
and  idea.  His  etching  of  The  Nativity  ought  to  make  friends 
everywhere,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  his  conception  of  The  Cruci- 
fixion will  continue  to  make  foes  as  well  as  friends;  custom  and 
convention  rule  over  most  lives,  and  Brangwyn  has  gone  home  to  his 
purpose  with  a  hush  of  his  own  and  a  candour  far  off  from  conven- 
tional religion. 

Have  we  another  artist  who  could  transfuse  from  the  four  gospels  a 
synoptic  vision  of  the  Crucifixion  as  searchingly  deep  in  mood  or  as 
rich  in  technical  inspiration  as  Brangwyn's  oil-painting,  with  its 
studies  and  the  etching? 

By  "technical  inspiration"  I  wish  to  denote  three  things:  (a)  all 
emotion  within  and  around  a  motif;  (b)  the  manner  and  the  mood  in 
which  a  motif  is  viewed  and  felt  and  conceived;  and  (c)  the  skill 
with  which  an  artist's  handiwork  adapts  itself  to  its  high  office — the 
realization  of  things  felt  and  seen  laith  passion  by  an  ^esthetic  mind. 
Let  me  repeat,  we  must  never  part  the  magician  called  technique 
from  the  other  magicians  named  emotion,  imagination,  mood,  and 


30 


conception.  As  well  try  to  divorce  words  from  the  ideas  and  the 
poetry  that  words  make  real  in  prose  and  verse. 

In  English  art,  above  all,  we  must  watch  the  technique,  for  the 
English  hand  in  art  has  blundered  more  often  than  the  English  heart 
and  head :  except  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  among  several  others  of 
younger  time  who  had  a  truer  and  a  richer  feeling  for  the  suscepti- 
bilities of  paint  than  for  gifts  of  the  spirit  in  "historical  painting," 
to  use  an  old  phrase.  Manipulation,  not  imagination,  is  Reynolds's 
main  quality.  But  as  often  as  not,  and  perhaps  more  often  than  not, 
our  English  failing  has  been  this:  that  clever  eyes  and  able  minds 
have  had  fumbling  allies  in  hands  imperfectly  trained. 
In  Victorian  days,  for  this  reason  mainly,  England  got  rid  of  many 
native  schools  and  styles  by  sending  her  boys  and  girls  abroad,  there 
to  learn  how  to  draw  and  paint  with  continental  ease,  and  in  methods 
as  inconstant  as  our  English  climate.  So  tentative  have  some  of 
these  imported  methods  become  that  our  super-modernists,  finding 
themselves  alone  and  lonely  with  their  mutual  admiration,  have  to 
seek  consolation  from  a  fugitive  disrespect  for  good  workmanship. 
Examples:  "We  have  become  much  less  interested  in  skill,  and  not 
at  all  interested  in  knowledge."  "We  are  intensely  conscious  of  the 
aesthetic  unity  of  the  work  of  art,  but  singularly  naive  and  simple 
as  regards  other  considerations."  Is  it  possible  for  any  mind  to  be 
self-conscious  towards  a  fashion  in  art,  and  yet  naive  and  simple  to- 
wards many  elements  which  geniuses  for  thousands  of  years  have 
deemed  essential  to  good  design,  but  which  extreme  modernists  delete 
from  their  artistic  equipment?  Devotees  of  the  newest  innovation 
are  proud  because  they  "are  entering  a  sphere  more  and  more  remote 
from  the  sphere  of  ordinary  men"  ;  they  wish  to  be  alone  and  lonely, 
believing  that  the  number  of  people  to  whom  art  appeals  should  be- 
come less  in  proportion  as  art  becomes  "pure."  Let  us  remember 
always  that  every  microscopic  sect  likes  to  regard  itself  as  the 
world's  judge  and  jury. 

Brangwyn  smiles  at  the  cockiness  that  yearns  to  make  art  so  "pure" 
that  only  small  groups  of  sectaries  can  imagine  themselves  "pure" 
enough  to  live  near  their  workmanship.  Is  it  not  the  mark  of 
humble  good  sense  to  doubt  the  little  men  of  a  day  who  in  a  few 
months  have  discovered  "a  pure  art"  by  which  esthetic  minds  are 
cut  off  from  "evil  old  influences"?  Brangwyn's  ambition  is  to  play 
his  part  in  the  lineage  of  artists,  just  as  he  plays  his  part  in  the  lineage 
of  his  family  or  in  his  country's  birthright  traditions.      Is  he  not 

31 


right?  What  good  can  be  done  by  trying  to  separate  any  phase  of 
good  workmanship  from  our  national  life?  I  cannot  accept  many  of 
the  obiter  scripta  that  the  super-modernists  noise  abroad  with  con- 
fidence, as  in  the  following  quotation: — 

"  In  proportion  as  art  becomes  pure  the  number  of  people  to  whom  it  appeals 
grows  less.  It  cuts  out  all  the  romantic  overtones  of  life  which  are  the  usual 
bait  by  which  the  work  of  art  induces  the  ordinary  man  to  accept  it.*  It 
appeals  only  to  the  aesthetic  sensibility.  ...  In  the  modern  movement  in 
art,  then,  as  in  so  many  cases  in  past  history,  the  revolution  in  art  seems  to 
be  out  of  all  proportion  to  any  corresponding  change  in  life  as  a  whole." 

This  ferment  of  futile 
words  comes  naturally 
from  excessive  zeal,  but 
yet  it  does  harm,  causing 
a  great  many  persons 
to  sneer  at  embryonic 
research.  What  sectaries 
need  is  humour:  never 
do  they  laugh  at  them- 
selves and  at  one  another : 
and  they  are  always  apt 
to  see  in  every  crust  a 
permanent  loaf  of  bread. 
They  forget  to  think, 
and  often  they  are  be- 
wildered by  very  simple 
historic  truth,  such  as 
the  usual  want  of  much 
detailedlikeness  between 
art  and  life,  even  in 
epochs  when  precise  representation  was  an  accepted  principle  in 
some  sense  or  other  with  every  school  of  aesthetics. 
To  use  other  words,  the  modesty  of  true  genius  held  up  its  mirror  to 
Nature,  but  emotion  and  imagination  added  many  precious  elements 
to  this  modesty;  and  while  the  general  character  of  life  was  roughed 
together  by  millions  of  people  always  more  or  less  at  odds  as  rivals 
or  competitors,  the  general  character  of  art  was  an  amalgam  com- 

*  Note  the  silly  misuse  of  the  words  "bait."  "cuts  out,"  "induces,"  etc.,  as  if  Art  were 
a  woman  who  ensnared  the  poor  ordinary  man  by  offering  baits.  Art  is  good  and  great 
workmanship,  except  to  writers  on  art  who  are  barristers  also  and  mainly. 


o 


H 


posed  by  only  a  few  rare  men,  each  with  moods  of  his  own  and  a 
technical  inspiration  ot  his  own.  Hence  art  and  life  could  not  re- 
flect each  other  closely  enough  to  be  very  like  each  other.  Allied 
and  akin  they  were  always,  and  essential  to  each  other,  but  different 
always  and  inevitably,  as  they  are  now.  Indeed,  true  art  is  for  ever 
nobler  than  life;  even  the  follies  and  grave  sins  that  men  put  into 
her,  from  age  to  age,  are  better  than  the  sins  and  follies  which  all 
types  of  society  keep  from  age  to  age. 

In  Brangwyn's  technical  inspiration,  as  a  rule,  there  is  instantaneous 
union  between  the  governing  emotion,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  its 
embodiment  by  swift  and  copious  technique.  Our  country  has  had 
no  painter  more  genuinely  a  painter,  for  F.  B.  paints  in  all  materials — 
pastel,  etching,  lithography,  charcoal,  chalk.  Seldom  does  he  draw 
a  line  which  has  not  the  quality  of  a  painted  stroke  informed  with 
his  inborn  dislike  for  linear  assertion.  There  is  some  danger  here, 
of  course,  a  passion  for  linear  probity  being  a  fine  discipline.  In  his 
best  work  he  knows  when  to  stop ;  and  often  he  stops  at  a  point 
which  a  great  many  onlookers  find  "unfinished,"  or  "too  sketchy." 
Many  a  painter  would  have  tried  to  put  some  mellowing  revision 
into  a  swift  revelation  of  Christ's  martyrdom;  but  inspiration  is  a 
wayward  guest,  and  Brangwyn  knows  that  mellowing  revision  is  too 
often  a  vile  thing  when  it  is  done  by  after-thought  from  the  criticism 
of  cold  blood. 

My  dear  old  master.  Professor  Legros,  a  few  years  before  his  death, 
painted,  one  enchanted  day,  a  sketch  of  The  Flight  into  Egypt,  over- 
flowing with  twilight  mystery  and  hinted  loveliness  ;  but  afterwards 
in  cold  blood  he  tried  to  improve  his  vision  and  its  ethos,  and  the  critic 
in  his  mind  ruined  what  his  genius  had  revealed.  Murder  in  good 
work  begins  when  an  artist  knows  not  where  to  break  off,  when  to 
let  well  alone.  Brangwyn's  work  recalls  to  my  mind  frequently  the 
rapid  William  M  idler,  who  in  a  sitting,  out  of  doors,  painted  a  large 
picture,  then  wrote  behind  his  canvas:  "Left  for  some  fool  to  finish." 
But  this  wisdom  can  be  overdone;  it  has  limits  forgotten  sometimes 
by  Brangwyn  and  very  often  by  some  other  modernists.  Henri 
Matisse,  for  example,  unless  I  do  him  injustice,  has  overstrained  the 
good  sense  which  never  pours  an  icy  "  finish  "  over  the  glow  and 
passion  of  inspired  hours  and  days.  We  have  to  accept  from  him, 
with  a  charity  that  matures,  much  that  is  embryonic.  Is  there 
no  resemblance  between  some  of  his  work  and  the  awkward  pathetic 
softness  of  unfledged  birds  in  a  nest  ? 

F  33 


After  all,  art  is  the  silver  dish  into  which  genius  puts  golden  fruit ; 
and  when  useful  innovators  put  silver  and  copper  fruit  into  art's  silver 
dish,  let  us  remember  that  the  golden  can  be  added  by  after-comers. 
What  I  like  most  in  Brangwyn  is  that  although  his  abounding  style 
at  its  best  is  usually  vehement  and  always  his  own,  and  therefore  likely 
to  offend  like  all  things  outside  and  above  custom,  its  improvisations 
are  whole  in  their  moods  and  coherent  in  their  technical  inspiration. 
Mistakes  do  appear  in  them,  of  course,  and  we  shall  try  to  look  at 
them  truly,  as  offshoots  of  a  prolific  growth  ;  but  the  main  point  here 
is  that  Brangwyn's  versatility,  not  less  often  than  not,  has  the  rarest 
mark  of  true  greatness;  an  emotion  without  breaks  or  gaps,  that  flows 
through  opulent  handiwork  from  end  to  end  of  much  busy  space. 
To  try  to  do  overmuch  is  either  to  spoil  much  that  was  worth  doing, 
or  to  do  nothing  with  much  ado ;  and  to  leave  off  too  soon  is  to  make 
too   many  calls  on  the  kindness  of  those  onlookers  whose  imagina- 
tions are  able  to  grow  great  art  from  embryo  efforts.     It  is  only  from 
time  to  time  that  Brangwyn  has  ruined  his  technical  inspiration  by 
doing  overmuch,  or  by  stopping  too  soon,  like  a  runner  before  he 
has  reached  the  tape.     And  I  speak,  of  course,  not  of  the  oddment 
industry  that  is  common  in  the  lives  of  all  very  swift  artists,  but 
of  the  work  into  which  he  has  put  his  whole  nature.      Brangwyn 
is  Brangwyn  when  he  is  at  his  best. 


HI 


Let  us  move  on  now  into  some  thoughts  on 
the  periods  of  emotion  through  which  an 
uncommonly  vigorous  and  versatile  style  has 
come  down  to  its  middle-age.  Brangwyn 
is  fifty-one,  and  his  hand  has  been  busy  with 
pencils  and  brushes  and  colours  from  early 
childhood.  Long  before  he  had  reached  his 
teens  and  velveteens,  when,  as  a  very  small 
boy,  he  lived  with  his  parents  in  sleepy 
Bruges,  his  birthplace,  he  knew  what  he 
wished  his  life  to  be  and  how  he  would 
shape  it  if  he  got  a  fair  chance.  Yet  he 
was  not  precocious ;  for  he  took  to  art  as 
ducklings  take  to  the  water,  or  as  young 
birds  fly  from  their  nests. 

34 


I .    The  Period  of  Primitive  Emotion. 

In  oae  sense  Brangwyn  has  never  outgrown  this  period  because  he 
has  never  outgrown  his  instinctive  zest  and  zeal  and  aptness.  There 
are  hours  when  he  talks  so  well  that  master  after  master  from  other 
days  seems  to  be  whispering  into  his  mind,  just  as  the  ages  past  seem 
to  whisper  to  bees  when  a  honeycomb  is  being  waxed  into  its  archi- 
tectural routine;  and  so  much  at  odds  with  conscious  labour  is  the 
instinctive  guidance  under  which  he  works  at  his  best  that  his  large 
canvases  ought  always  to  be  laid  in  by  pupils  from  his  cartoons  and 
sketches,  and  all  research  in  history  and  archaeology  should  be  done 
for  him  in  "briefs"  by  "devils."  No  kinsman  of  Rubens  has  a 
right  to  dull  his  instinct  by  wasting  his  nerve  power  on  preliminary 
toil  and  fatigue.  As  well  employ  delicate  race-horses  to  scramble 
iield-guns  into  action  over  cratered  battlefields.  How  can  an  artist 
meditate,  how  can  he  put  enough  mind  into  his  work  if  he  wastes 
physical  energy?  * 

The  young  period  of  primitive  emotion  in  Brangwyn's  work  is  the 
period  of  his  apprenticeship;  it  ranges  from  his  earliest  efforts  at 
Bruges  to  his  rather  haphazard,  though  very  useful,  studies  under 
Mackmurdo  and  William  Morris,  and  thence  to  the  first  sea  change 
that  his  mind  suffered  in  blufi"  experiences  near  our  eastern  and 
southern  coasts.  He  worked  for  Morris  from  about  1882  to  1884, 
and  in  1885,  after  a  trip  in  a  coasting  vessel,  he  sent  to  the  R.A. 
"A  Bit  on  the  Esk,  near  Whitby." 

Roughly  stated,  then,  the  period  of  primitive  emotion  ranges  from 
the  age  of  five  to  seventeen  or  eighteen. 

I  wish  it  had  been  Brangwyn's  happy  lot  in  this  period,  as  it  was  the 
happy  lot  of  Degas  in  a  period  as  important,  to  meet  an  artist  of  the 
type  of  Ingres,  a  great  and  sympathetic  draughtsman  who  united  to 
classic  feeling  an  alert  homeliness,  always  eager  to  be  at  ease  in  the 
characters  of  men  and  women  and  children.  Ingres  died  in  1867, 
leaving  no  French  successor,  but  Portaels  in  Brussels  was  a  great 
host  towards  his  pupils,  as  I  know  from  personal  observation. 
Portaels  would  have  been  an  excellent  master  to  curb  with  gruff" 
gentleness  the  enthusiasm  of  young  Brangwyn,  enticing  him  towards 
those  qualities  which  were  dormant  in  his  genius,  just  as  a  good 
singing  master  tries  with  a  coaxing  patience  to  develop  in  a  pupil's 

*  Let  us  remember  how  the  genius  of  Baudry  was  enfeebled  by  the  huge  decorations 
done  without  help  for  the  Paris  Opera  House.  One  day  Baudry  said  to  Jules  Breton  : 
"  You  cannot  guess  how  I  use  up  my  physical  strength." 

35 


voice  any  note  that  is  weak.  Some  think  that  Legros  would  have 
been  a  good  teacher  for  the  lad  Brangwyn.  On  this  point  I  am 
doubtful.  Master  and  pupil  would  have  been  too  much  alike  in 
temperament;  the  better  and  richer  comradeship  comes  from  sym- 
pathy of  contrast  between  those  who  teach  and  those  who  are  eager 
to  learn.  Affinities  blend  so  easily  that  an  explosive  may  be  formed. 
Portaels  described  good  teaching  as  divination  seasoned  with  unplea- 
sant truth,  and  all  his  pupils  had  styles  unlike  his  own  and  unlike  one 
another's.  He  would  have  kept  Brangwyn  on  the  rough  highway 
cut  out  for  the  boy  by  the  boy's  own  adventurous  gifts,  while  con- 
vincing him  that  he  would  gain,  not  lose,  if  he  drew  for  a  couple  of 
years  or  so  from  the  nude  without  worrying  about  the  qualities  which 
he  desired  to  get  with  his  facile  and  stormful  brush.  But  it  was 
Brangwyn's  lot  to  quarry  out  of  hard  times  an  education  fit  to  be  his 
guide  ;  he  managed  wonderfully,  thanks  to  his  great  instinct  and 
thanks  to  his  unassuming  courage.  But  yet — and  the  truth  must  be 
told — he  needed  such  friendship  as  Couture  gave  to  Manet  and  as 
Ingres  gave  to  the  grateful  Degas.  His  early  work  in  all  its  many 
phases  would  have  been  deeper  and  richer  in  purpose  and  in  body  if 
fortune  had  been  his  friend  by  bringing  to  him  such  a  master  as  gruff, 
generous  old  Portaels.* 

Instinct,  marvellously  useful  as  it  is,  has  many  troubles  when  it  begins 
to  find  its  way  unaided  from  its  own  sphere  into  more  or  less  conscious 
and  painful  effort.  What  is  instinct?  I  regard  it  as  apt  intelligence 
transmuted  by  heredity  into  a  birthright  custom  almost  as  automatic 
as  the  heart's  action.  We  know  not  why  ordinary  men  are  instinc- 
tive only  in  stupid  irrational  ways,  genius  and  talent  alone  having 
constructive  instincts  that  unite  mankind  to  the  building  routine  of 
birds,  bees,  ants,  and  beavers.  It  was  instinct  that  caused  Brangwyn 
to  enlist  for  his  affection  the  great  plebeian  artists,  such  as  Morland, 
Rowlandson,  Millet,  and  Degroux.  The  Welsh  blood  in  his  veins  is 
the  ancient  Iberian  blood,  and  Wales,  with  her  bleak  and  windful 
beauty,  did  not  leave  poverty  for  wealth  until  the  modern  era  of 
coal-mining  began.  Thrift  was  born  in  her  people ;  and  in  Brang- 
wyn, the  man,  thrift  is  always  present,  just  as  the  poor  are  always 
present  in  his  charity  as  an  artist. 

*  The  Portaels  Studio  was  a  fine  school  in  the  eighteen-eighties,  and  a  finer  one  still  in 
1865,  when  its  figure  painters  included  Cormon,  Emile  Wauters,  Agneessens,  Hen- 
nebicq,  the  brothers  Oyens ;  its  laadscapists,  Van  der  Hecht  and  Verheyden  ;  and  its 
sculptors,  Van  der  Stappen. 

36 


^5 


3   ^ 


■-% 


X 


-.  2 
13  tj 


_;  O 
a;  U 


If  mv  readers,  turning  to  the  volume  of  1910,  will  consider  my 
account  of  Brangwyn's  earliest  work,  they  will  understand  me  when 
I  say,  in  an  after  reflection,  tliat  his  free  style  became  adolescent  very 
soon  and  grew  a  beard  when  very  young.  Here  is  the  most  remark- 
able fact  in  the  emotion  that  governed  his  first  period  and  its  technical 
equipment.  The  boy  felt  as  able  men  feel :  so  his  manner  of  work 
had  a  truly  adult  glow  and  force  when  it  was  yet  as  tentative  as  were 
the  efforts  of  other  lads.  And  this  means  that  the  female  elements 
of  his  genius  were  put  aside  by  the  hardships  of  a  tough  struggle, 
which  would  have  caused  an  unmanly  boy  to  trifle  with  self-pity. 
Since  then,  too,  the  female  elements  in  Brangwyn's  genius*  have 
never  been  at  all  alert ;  but,  during  the  period  of  middle  age,  they 
may  awake,  as  they  do  in  Legros'  etchings,  which  pass  gradually 
from  rude  manliness  towards  gracious  tenderness. 

2.    The  Second  and  Third  Periods. 

Periods  mingle  together,  and  I  know  not  at  which  date  a  struggle 
began  between  instinct  and  questioning  doubts:  between  subconscious 
gifts  and  that  consciousness  which  opened  upon  life  when  his  mind 
quickened  into  growth  and  self-criticism.  But  the  sea,  with  its 
multifarious  magic  and  its  merciless  power,  made  the  boy  very 
conscious  of  two  disconcerting  old  truisms : — 

1.  That  the  tools  and  materials  used  by  painters  and  draughtsmen 
are  feeble  things,  and  act  as  foes  not  only  between  conception  and 
execution,  but  also  between  students  and  Nature,  forcing  so  many 
limits  on  a  free  use  of  naturalism  that  paintings  and  drawings,  when 
compared  with  Nature's  Reality,  are  Appearance  only,  sometimes 
inspired  with  fertile  emotions  and  great  ideas. 

2.  Hence  good  workmanship  by  painters  and  draughtsmen  is  as  a 
varied  dream  of  things  seen,  seen  imaginatively,  within  the  bounds 
of  those  changing  customs  and  conventions,  by  means  of  which  the 
big  men  have  marked,  and  will  continue  to  mark,  their  varying  atti- 
tude towards  Nature  and  the  limits  imposed  on  their  handiwork  by 
material  agents,  their  tools  and  materials.  Painted  sunlight  will 
never  be  sunlight,  for  example,  but  we  are  thankful  that  Monet 
became  a  sun-worshipper,  like  Camille  Pissarro.  Painted  tides  can 
never  ebb  and  flow:   their  cyclonic  fury  is  a  mute  idler,  and  their 

*  Note  the  look  of  womanhood,  for  instance,  that  shines  out  from  the  manful  candour 
and  good  nature  in  the  face  of  Rubens  ;  and  note  also  the  glimpse  of  womanhood  in 
Napoleon's  modelled  cheeks,  as  in  his  deft,  pliant  hands,  with  their  chubby  inquisitiveness. 

37 


unrippled  gaiety  and  charm  on  sweet  serene  days  are  a  beautiful 
make-believe;  but  yet  a  few  Englishmen,  and  Brangwyn  is  among 
the  number,  have  salted  art  as  true  sailors,  with  moments  and  visions 
of  the  sea  that  cause  the  old  Viking  element  in  our  national  character 
to  awake,  and  we  feel  that  our  dear  island  is  too  small  to  be  a  safe  home 
for  the  wayward  and  roving  high  spirits  that  won  her  vast  Empire. 
From  the  first  Brangwyn's  aim  was  to  reveal,  in  a  broad,  free  manner, 
as  near  as  possible  to  the  movement  of  water,  all  that  he  could  suggest 
of  the  sea's  weight,  volume,  colour,  and  stupendous  power,  passing 
over  many  a  detail  in  the  drama  of  gathering  waves :  many  a  detail 
that  Turner  watched  silently  for  hours,  and  then  noted  swiftly  with 
a  few  lines  and  a  wash  of  water-colour.*  Ships  delighted  him,  and 
he  loved  the  bantam-like  tugs  which  with  strutting  effort  brought  big 
vessels  into  harbour,  their  fog-horns  crowing  into  a  mist,  and  a  long 
trail  of  black  smoke  blotting  the  foul  weather.  His  gray  marines 
culminated  in  "The  Funeral  at  Sea,"  exhibited  during  the  winter  of 
1890.  In  this  picture  his  mood  is  that  of  a  simple  sailor,  who, 
sailor-like,  is  rather  shy  towards  the  sentiment  which  the  subiect  asks 
from  him;  and  his  technical  inspiration  is  seamanly  in  other  respects. 
It  is  bluff  and  virile,  and  somewhat  hard  and  taut.  For  the  rest,  let 
me  refer  you  to  the  analysis  given  in  19 10. 

Passing  from  "The  Funeral  at  Sea"  to  "The  Convict  Ship"  (1892) 
we  find  a  changed  mood  and  a  different  spirit  in  the  paint.  Pity  and 
irony  direct  the  mood,  and  the  colour,  graj  ana  o'isolate  as  the  human 
wreckage,  has  in  it  so  much  passion  that  we  know  this  picture  comes 
from  the  heart.  But  already  the  young  painter's  work  has  become  very 
composite,  thanks  to  foreign  travel.  He  has  visited  the  Dardanelles, 
the  Bosphorus,  Constantinople,  the  T^igean,  the  Sea  of  Marmora;  has 
made  trips  to  Spain,  and  another  to  South  Africa ;  and  out  of  these 
and  other  vagrant  studies  come  "The  Slave  Traders"  of  1892  and 
"The  Buccaneers"  of  1893.! 

*  Turner  described  how  he  came  to  paint  "  The  Snow-storm" — a  grand  impression  of 
a  winter  storm  at  sea.  "  I  did  not  paint  it  to  be  understood,"  he  said  to  the  Rev.  W. 
Kingsley,  whose  mother  had  passed  through  a  similar  tempest  and  was  enthralled  by 
Turner's  picture.  "  I  wished  to  show  what  such  a  scene  was  like.  I  got  the  sailors  to 
lash  me  to  the  mast  to  observe  it.  I  was  lashed  for  four  hours,  and  I  did  not  expect  to 
escape ;  but  I  felt  bound  to  record  it  if  I  did.  But  no  one  has  any  business  to  like  the 
picture.  ...  Is  your  mother  a  painter  ? "  "  No,"  said  the  clergyman.  "  Then  she 
ought  to  have  been  thinking  of  something  else,"  answered  Turner. 

f  Both  of  these  marine  moods,  the  gray  and  the  sumptuously  coloured,  appeared  in 
commissioned  work  done  for  Scrihners  3Iag,iz!ne,  and  students  of  Brangw}-n  should 
collect  these  good  Scribner  prints. 

38 


A  revolution  parts  "The  Funeral  at  Sea"  from  "The  Buccaneers." 
Eye  and  hand,  mind  and  mood,  and  the  motive-power  behind  and 
in  the  technique:  all  alike  are  astonishingly  altered.  In  the  earlier 
picture  we  feel  that  England  is  anchored  to  the  sinister  North  Sea; 
in  the  later,  that  she,  the  greatest  of  all  sea-rovers,  past  and  present, 
is  moored  to  the  East  as  well,  let  us  hope  securely.  And  yet,  so 
irrational  is  the  British  character,  that  we  must  go  to  several  French 
artists,  as  to  Guillaumet,  Delacroix,  Dehodencq,  Dinet,  Regnault, 
Decamps,  Ziem,  Fromentin,  Charles  Cottet,  when  we  wish  to  dis- 
cover the  nearest  affinities  to  the  Easternism  in  Brangwyn's  earlier 
work. 

Eight  years  ago  I  said  much  about  the  very  unusual  effect  produced 
in  Paris  by  "The  Buccaneers,"  and  the  picture  remains  an  event.  Its 
amazing  virility,  its  wild,  fierce  dramatization,  the  tropical  frenzy  of 
its  colour,  and  the  staring  heat  which  seems  to  leave  the  world  with- 
out air,  these  are  enchanted  wild  oats,  and  I  wish  young  men  of  our 
race  would  sow  them  often.  Brangwyn  got  somehow  from  himself 
a  temper  akin  to  that  which  put  the  devil  into  many  an  old  sea-dog 
who  cared  not  for  incessant  scurvy  when  he  sailed  after  foes,  fame, 
loot,  and  El  Dorado.  Cant  speaks  to-day — cant,  a  vice  detestable — 
as  if  our  forbears  were  doves  and  saints;  but  doves  and  saints,  like 
cant  and  claptrap,  are  more  likely  by  far  to  lose  empires  than  to  win 
them  among  hardships  and  flocking  dangers.  Yes,  and  however 
gentle  the  manners  of  mankind  may  become,  the  nation  that  will 
endure  longest  will  be  nearest  secretly,  in  her  inward  self,  to  Nature's 
unending  strife;  and  so  we  must  not  cry  out  when  young  artists  and 
writers  hark  back  to  the  primal  emotion  which  enabled  Brangwyn 
to  paint  "The  Buccaneers."  How  Kit  Marlowe  would  have  rejoiced 
over  such  a  picture!  And  the  world-brain  that  put  so  much  bar- 
barian terror  into  the  poetry  of  "King  Lear"  would  not  have  thought 
"The  Buccaneers"  too  opulently  hot  and  fierce.  In  a  recent  etching, 
"The  Svv'ineherd,"  Brangwyn  represents  another  primal  emotion, 
almost  Calibanesque,  as  we  shall  see. 

I  am  trying  to  suggest  that  Brangwyn,  after  roughing  it  among 
sailors  of  the  North  Sea,  added  many  qualities  to  his  moods  and  to 
his  technical  inspirations  by  roughing  it  abroad  under  skies  that 
glared  and  a  heat  that  clasped  as  with  sweating  hands.  Never  will 
you  draw  near  to  his  earlier  adventures  in  art,  nor  yet  to  his  etched 
works,  unless  you  feel  and  see  that  they  are  autobiography  as  well  as 
wayward  genius.      Note,  for  instance,  that  although  there  appears  to 

39 


be  no  restraint  at  all  in  "  The  Buccaneers,"  yet  one  great  effect  of 
penetrating  sunlight  is  left  out  deliberately  because  it  would  have 
turned  a  narrative  picture  into  a  mere  fight  of  pigments  against  the 
sun,  whose  heat  when  very  intense  appears  to  look  into  many  things 
as  the  X-rays  do  into  flesh,  making  them  glow  into  transparence  or 
translucency.  Some  modernists  have  taken  for  their  motif  this  effect 
of  ardent  sunlight.  Brangwyn  has  never  vied  in  this  way  against  the 
tragic-beneficent  heat  which  keeps  life  alive  on  our  globe.  Such 
daring  does  not  set  his  genius.  In  all  his  work — prints,  drawings, 
oil-paintings,  water-colours — you  will  find  that  he  loves  weight  as 
ardently  as  Michelangelo  loved  it,  but  differently,  of  course,  since 
Michelangelo  drew  and  painted  as  a  masterful  sculptor.  In  his 
weight  there  is  animate  marble;  in  Brangwyn's,  sincere  homage  paid 
by  a  manly  painter  to  the  many  thousands  of  substances  that  vast 
winds  cannot  sweep  away  and  destroy.  It  shows  how  light  and  heavy 
things  rest  on  solid  earth  always  heavier  than  they.* 
And  this  quality  of  weight  in  his  technique  leads  on  to  a  few  sum- 
marizing remarks  on  Brangwyn's  attitude  towards  representation:  in 
other  words,  towards  his  intercourse  with  Human  Life  and  Inani- 
mate Nature  and  the  degrees  of  likeness  that  the  arts  gather  from 
Inanimate  Nature  and  Human  Life.  Quite  early  in  his  career  his 
temperament  parted  company  with  two  very  different  principles : 
the  principle  of  detail,  to  which  Ruskin  offered  so  much  devotion, 
and  the  principle  of  unlimited  fresh  air,  to  which  Monet  paid  rever- 
ence before  an  altar  of  new  technique.  Brangwyn  has  always  loved 
in  many  old  masters  the  use  of  apt,  wise  detail,  such  as  Van  Eyck 
contrived  to  store  up  in  thousandfold  breadth  and  modesty ;  and  un- 
usual longsight  for  years  compelled  his  eyes  to  pick  out  details  with 
a  camera-like  tyranny.  But  his  temperament  asked  for  big  canvases — 
sometimes  even  too  big — and  large  brushes,  as  it  has  asked  for  big 
plates,  sometimes  too  big,  for  his  etched  work ;  and  details  were 
collected  with  a  sweeping  touch  into  plots  and  large  masses.  Monet's 
technical  appeal  moved  too  much  by  jerks,  and  was  also  too  scattered, 
to  be  of  use  to  a  style  that  struck  blows  with  a  bold,  full  rhythm. 
The  difference  between  Monet's  style  and  Brangwyn's,  and  therefore 
between  two  temperaments,  is  similar  to  the  difference  between  a 
jerky,  intermittent  pulse  and  a  great  heart's  rhythmical  systole  and 

*  Few  British  painters  or  draughtsmen  have  much  feeling  for  the  weight  of  things. 
Girtin  is  among  the  few,  so  is  Rowlandson,  so  is  Raeburn,  to  take  three  examples. 
Babies  and  battleships  have  about  the  same  weight  in  the  work  of  too  many  artists. 

40 


•lb    THERK     IRUIH    IN     URINKf 
I  KOM     I'lll'     (iKKJNAI      I  I  I  IIOI.K.M  II 


diastole,  by  which  the  circulation  is  kept  up  with  ordered  vigour. 
And  you  will  see  at  once  that  the  pulse  of  emotion  in  prints,  drawings, 
pictures  of  all  sorts,  depends  on  the  systole  and  disastole  of  an  artist's 
own  style.  In  the  presence  ot  a  fine  Brangwyn,  such  as  "  Breaking 
up  '  The  Duncan,'  "  to  choose  one  of  many  etchings,  I  say  to  myself: 
"•  The  style  has  heart  enough  to  run  ten  miles,  and  more,  without 
getting  a  stitch  in  its  side."  But  a  style  of  this  sort,  mark  well,  is 
sure  to  be  somewhat  of  a  tyrant ;  it  makes  rules  of  its  own  and  en- 
forces them,  and  sometimes  gets  itself  into  scrapes.  It  never  coaxes, 
but  goes  its  own  way  in  its  own  great  stride,  causing  many  onlookers 
not  only  to  lose  their  breath,  but  also  to  feel  cross,  and  sometimes 


* 


justly  so. 

Though  Brangwyn  takes  from  Human  Life  and  Inanimate  Nature 
no  more  than  he  can  use  with  fluent  ease  and  insistent  breadth,  he 
never  talks  about  the  whys  and  wherefores;  and  only  in  occasional 
mishaps  has  he  violated  natural  forms,  though  never  in  a  manner  far- 
sought  and  dear-bought.  Not  once  has  he  been  like  certain  recent 
modernists,  who  declare  that  they  rediscover  in  fumbled  anatomy, 
puffy  and  embryonic,  the  principle  of  structural  design  and  harmony, 
displacing  "the  criterion  of  conformity  to  appearance"  and  re-estab- 
lishing "  pure  esthetic  criteria."  Are  there  any  limits  to  the  irony 
ot  self-praise? 

There  is  pathos  in  any  ugliness  that  the  hazards  of  heredity  and  life's 
hardships  give  to  women  and  men;  but  even  this  inevitable  over- 
throw of  the  human  body's  noble  shape  can  be  exhibited  too  often 
within  the  charities  of  art.  What  need  is  there,  then,  for  any 
modernist  to  go  back  with  pride  to  such  deformities  as  come  from 
ignorance  of  hand  into  the  craftmanship  of  savages?  Such  miscon- 
formity  to  appearance  has  often  noble  hints  of  greatness,  yet  it  can 
never  be  in  educated  art  anything  more  than  a  make-believe  barbarity. 
Still,  the  only  things  to  be  feared  and  hated  as  foes  to  art  are  lethargic 
temperaments,  those  rearward  spirits  that  pursue  no  aim  intrepidly, 
but  view  with  blinking  eyes  all  daring,  and  slink  with  creeping  feet 
into  the  boudoir  of  timid  compromise. 

But  for  all  that,  no  doubt,  history  suggests  to  all  modernists  that  a 
noble  sense  of  personal  worth  is  an  aesthetic  emotion  and  a  necessary 

*  Mr.  A.  Glutton  Brock  says  :  "  Beauty  to  most  people  consists,  not  in  design,  but  in 
what  they  call  'style';  and  style  changes  as  quickly  as  fashion  in  dress."  Let  me  say, 
then,  that  I  use  the  word  "style"  to  denete  all  the  invariable  tokens  of  Brangwyn's 
g)resence  in  his  handiwork. 

G  41 


element  of  greatness.  Could  a  Matisse  lose  anything  worth  keeping 
if  he  claimed  from  the  Greek  sculptors  his  right  to  inherit  enough 
modest  respect  for  nobleness  of  matured  form?  Surely  all  embryonic 
art,  however  promising,  comes  within  Bacon's  verdict:  "As  the  births 
of  living  creatures  at  first  are  ill-shapen,  so  are  all  innovations,  which 
are  the  births  of  time." 

And  it  is  right  here  to  dwell  on  these  matters.  They  unite  us  to  our 
own  times,  and  Brangwyn's  career  has  had  errors  of  judgment:  days 
in  which  our  artist  has  forgotten,  or  has  seemed  to  forget,  that  the 
world  is  a  hostess  who  closes  her  doors  on  those  who  ask  overmuch 
from  her  amenity.  These  errors  are  akin  to  the  lees  and  dregs  of 
good  wine  that  matures;  but  if  I  failed  to  point  them  out,  not  once 
but  several  times  in  my  chapters,  I  should  have  to  brace  myself  to 
encounter  the  charge  of  being  a  censor,  and  so  unwilling  to  pass  for 
press  any  known  fact  harmful  to  a  big  man  in  office.  How  could 
art  exist  if  there  were  no  moods  and  ambitions  to  make  mistakes  as 
well  as  masterpieces? 

In  the  etchings,  to  which  we  move  on  now,  we  shall  find  frequent 
changes  of  mood  and  of  technical  inspiration.  Eight  years  ago  I  gave 
a  discursive  chapter  to  some  of  the  earlier  proofs ;  since  then  a  large 
series  has  been  printed,  and  now  it  is  a  duty  to  reconsider  the 
whole  output  as  completely  as  I  can.  To  me  it  seems  probable  that 
Brangwyn  will  pass  away  soon  from  his  etched  work,  because  he 
has  got  from  this  phase  of  his  art,  with  the  help  of  very  thoughtful 
printing,  sometimes  tinted,  all  the  fine  results  that  he  can  hope  to 
achieve,  without  making  use  of  mezzotint,  which  would  suit  his 
vivid  style  as  a  great  chiaroscurist. 


42 


CHAPTER  II  SOME  CURRENT  FALLACIES 
VERSUS       THE       BRANGWYN       ETCHINGS 

I 

(ipular  fallacies  arc  never  easy  to 
kill  ;  they  collect  and  retain  so 
much  crude  human  nature  that 
many  find  their  home  from  age 
to  age  in  the  least  vulnerable  of 
our  mortal  foes — The  Average  Mind.  Now  and  then,  by  rare  good 
fortune,  one  of  them  may  be  driven  into  exile,  like  a  naughty  prince 
banished  by  democrats  ;  but  a  coaxing  gray  mare  among  fondled 
fallacies,  such  as  the  belief  that  feeble  men  can  summon  peace 
perpetual  into  a  world  always  at  strife,  is  likely  to  be  as  attractive 
to  the  Average  Mind  as  artificial  lights  are  to  moths. 
Fallacies  have  gathered  about  the  art  of  etching  as  about  everything 
else,  and  writers  and  talkers  pay  homage  to  those  that  they  like  best. 
I  dare  not  guess  that  these  are  delicate  fallacies,  mere  consumptives 
that  live  in  the  open  air  without  renewing  their  strength  ;  so  I  cannot 
imagine  that  any  words  of  mine  will  make  some  of  them  less  bewitching 
to  their  supporters.  But  yet,  as  W.  E.  Henley  told  me  in  my  boyhood, 
a  full  keen  blow  should  be  struck  for  a  good  cause  by  all  written  work, 
and  the  good  cause  here  is  to  attack  those  who  fondle  fallacy. 
Brangwyn  has  not  been  a  friend  to  many  a  fallacy  which  etchers  must 
either  accept  or  reject ;  and  his  opposition  has  been  made  public, 
as  a  rule,  not  by  word  of  mouth  nor  in  writing,  but  by  his  prints. 
Day  after  day,  then,  he  has  put  himself  into  a  hornets'  nest,  or  what 
the  Scottish  call  a  bike  of  bees.  To  be  stung  every  now  and  then 
is  good  sport.  Does  anyone  wish  to  be  stung  year  by  year  a  great 
many  times,  always  around  the  same  places,  and  always  by  the  same 
bees  or  hornets  .?  I  don't.  Do  you  ?  So  many  return  visits  from 
the  same  irritations  must  be  bad  for  all  skins,  whether  thick  or  thin; 
it  puts  patience  out  of  mind;  and  for  this  reason  I  have  been  asked 
to  say  a  few  words  on  some  frequent  stings  thrust  into  Brangwyn  by 
a  good  many  lovers  of  fallacy. 

Let  us  choose  the  most  important,  and  then  treat  them  with  dismal 
fervour  as  if  they  were  precious  things  to  be  studied  for  a  competi- 
tive examination  and  a  scholarship. 

43 


I .  That  Very  Big  Plates  are  An  O fence  in  'Etching ;  hence  the  Brangwyn 
Prints  are  generally  much  Too  Large. 

Do  connoisseurs  of  etching  employ  foot  rules  and  inch  maxims? 
Perhaps  they  say  among  themselves:  "This  print  is  9J  inches  by  6 
inches.  August  and  a  masterpiece !  It  is  the  size  Vandyck  loved. 
Yes,  but  this  other  print — 'Building  a  Ship' — is  35I  inches  by  .  .  .  .? 
Heaven  above!  The  width  really  is  2j\  inches!  Not  to  speak  of 
the  wide  margins!  Are  we  to  buy  new  and  giant  portfolios?  Nonsense! 
Are  we  to  order  new  print-cases  ?  Rubbish !  Must  we  sell  our  oil- 
pictures  to  make  room  for  etchings  of  this  wicked  size  ?     We  should 

be  cut  by  the  R.A and  by  other  societies  also.     Our  lives 

wouldn't  be  worth  living.  Oh !  Let  us  be  wary.  How  the  deuce 
are  print-sellers  to  handle  these  elephantine  etchings?  Two  or  three 
boys,  dressed  as  pages,  could  move  them  from  place  to  place  in  a 
shop,  just  as  the  trains  of  royal  dresses  are  carried  out  of  reach  of 
feet  at  a  court  ceremony.  Come,  come  !  Let  us  stand  up  for  the 
print-sellers.  What  they  need,  let  us  believe,  are  little  gems,  dainty 
and  exquisite  prints;  just  a  few  square  inches  each,  you  know;  easy 
to  carry  .  .  .  and  as  easy  to  hide  out  of  sight  when  our  wives  want 
costly  new  gowns  instead  of  ideal  small  prints,  true  art  in  essence. 
It's  the  very  dickens  to  get  even  a  biggish  print  home  when  milliners 
and  things  are  in  the  air.  But  these  Brangwyns!  Jove  I  Etched 
wallpapers  done  by  machine  might  be  easier  to  get  home  discreetly, 
without  a  bother.     Collecting  isn't  easy!" 

If  connoisseurs  of  etching  do  speak  in  this  way  among  themselves, 
they  say  nothing  about  real  woes  when  they  put  their  sighs  and 
groans  into  print.  If  they  said  that  Brangwyn  is  too  fond  of  huge 
plates  I  should  venture  to  agree  with  them :  but  their  argument 
is  that  Brangwyn  offends  against  necessary  traditions  which  good 
etchers  have  gained  from  the  genius  of  their  craft.  This  assertion 
has  a  bold  air  and  sound.  Is  it  a  fact,  or  is  it  an  ^'obiter  dictum,  a 
gratuitous  opinion,  an  individual  impertinence,  which,  whether  right 
or  wrong,  bindeth  none— not  even  the  lips  that  utter  it"?  Suppose 
we  take  a  few  glances  into  the  history  of  etching. 
The  earliest  etchings  were  small — not  because  artists  had  a  dislike 
for  magnitude,  but — because  a  great  many  hitches  and  scrapes  had 
to  be  eased  one  by  one  in  the  elementary  technique  of  a  new  and 
incalculable  handicraft.  Copper-plate  engraving  may  be  a  German 
invention,  as  the  Florentine  Maso  Finiguerra  did  not  get  first  into 
the  field,  about  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  as  Vasari  believed 

44 


and  wrote.  The  etched  hne  on  copper — that  is,  the  eaten  hne,  or 
line  eaten  into  copper  hy  acid — is  ot'  later  date,  and  a  rival  ot  tlie 
furrowed  line  ploughed  into  copper  hy  a  strong,  sharp  hurin.  Its 
discovery  has  an  uncertain  date,  but  it  is  attributed  sometimes  to  a 
great  Italian,  Parmigiano,  who  lived  from  1504  to  1540. 
Rolling  presses  for  printing  the  copperplates  are  said  to  have  been 
invented  about  five  years  after  Parmigiano's  death  ;  and  one  of  the 
mesmeric  masters  of  great  art,  Andrea  Mantegna  (who  died  in 
1506,  at  the  age  of  seventy-five),  declined  to  be  enslaved  by  small 
engravings.  He  put  his  mind  into  some  pretty  large  prints,  highly 
studied  and  full  of  figures  ;  and  with  oblique  hatchings  he  added 
shadows  to  the  main  lines,  feeling  an  aesthetic  need  similar  to  that 
which  now  causes  an  illustrator  to  flow  a  wash  over  his  indelible 
penwork.  Line-and-shade  etching  is  a  kincraft  to  Mantegna's  en- 
graving, and  helps  to  keep  us  in  mind  of  the  fact  that  men  ot  mark 
get  many  a  rule  and  law  from  their  own  gifts,  and  refuse  to  be  shut 
up  in  maxims  and  methods  that  irk  their  just  treedom. 
Small  etchings  were  inevitably  right  when  large  copper  plates, 
hammered  out  bv  hand  to  an  even  thickness  all  over,  were  not  easy 


45 


to  get,  and  when  the  technique  of  a  very  tricky  new  craft  had  to 
gather  from  blunders  its  traditions  and  recipes,  such  as  Abraham 
iJosse  in  1645  "oted  in  his  treatise.  Small  etchings,  too,  as  a  rule, 
have  ever  been  right  for  book,  illustration,  and  also  for  men  who, 
like  Ostade,  Whistler,  Claude,  and  the  great  uncanny  Meryon,*  have 
discovered  that  a  big  spread  of  copper  would  dethrone  their  genius. 
Whistler  got  as  much  joy  from  being  short  in  etching  as  he  got 
from  being  long  and  sharp  in  the  gentle  art  of  making  foes  with  his 
written  wit ;  and  since  his  airy,  butterfly  touch  could  no  more  find  its 
way  over  a  large  copper  plate  (without  making  a  mess),  than  his 
dapper  little  feet  and  legs  could  have  run  a  ten-mile  race  (without  a 
start  of  five  or  six  miles),  he  wished  to  endow  all  etchers  with  the 
axiom  that  small  fine  prints  were  the  only  deeds  of  grace  fit  to  offer 
to  their  handicraft.*  But  this  vanity  is  forgiven  when  we  see  how 
elusive  is  the  winsome  self-control  that  Whistler  treasured  up  in  his 
finer  or  finest  etchings.  A  spirit  like  that  of  Gothic  tracery  seen 
by  twilight,  dwells  in  some  of  his  airy  lightness  ;  but  we  need  only 
one  Whistler  and  one  Meryon,  just  as  we  need  only  one  Brangwyn. 
The  really  unique  in  etching,  as  in  other  arts,  founds  no  school;  a 
manipulation  fit  to  inspire  safe  emulation,  as  in  Vandyke's  portrait 
etching,  has  a  certain  general  friendliness  like  that  of  Nature's 
pleasing  moods  and  aspects,  which  everyone  can  accept  as  equally 
good  for  everyone  else. 

Rembrandt  has  a  great  many  small  prints  among  the  260  etchings  in 
his  authentic  output ;  but  no  sooner  does  he  bring  his  humane  realism 
and  his  heavenworthiness  into  communion  with  the  Scriptures,  than 
he  begins  to  feel  at  times  the  need  of  ampler  plates;  and  he  wrestles 
with  lofty  ideas  on  his  larger  fields  of  copper  as  Jacob  wrestled  with 
a  Celestial  One  near  the  bank  of  a  river  flowing  between  him  and 
his  father's  home.  Yes,  Rembrandt  seems  to  etch  with  his  soul  on 
man's  heart;  and  in  his  magnitude  there  is  material  size  enough   in 

*  Let  me  give  the  measurements  of  the  principal  etchings  in  Meryon's  Old  Paris  views. 
Le  Pont-au-Change,  61%  by  13/0  ;  Le  Ministere  de  La  Marine,  61%  by  5j"q  ;  L'Abside 
de  Notre-Dame  de  Paris,  6^%  by  il-f^i  La  Morgue,  9,'-u  by  Bj-jj;  Le  Pont  Neuf,  7-|-;, 
by  7Y'u  •,  La  Pompe  Notre-Dame,  63*-  by  10;  Rue  dcs  Chantres,  i  l/jy  by  5j''„  ;  La  Tour 
de  THorloge,  lOi'-ij  by  7i-V;  La  Galerie  de  Notre-Dame,  iiJ^by  7;  Saint-Etienne- 
du  Mont,  y-i'ij  by  5i%;  La  Rue  des  Mauvais  Gar^ons,  5  by  g,°jy;  Le  Stryge,  6yu  by 
5'iV  ;  Le  Petit  Pont,  7-/5  by  5  j%  ;  Tourelle  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie,  9  >„  by  ^^^  ;  Rue 
Pirouette  i860,  5  by  4iV  5  L'Arche  du  Pont  Notre-Dame,  6  by  7/„. 
•f  In  my  book  on  the  early  Life  and  Work  of  Frank  Brangwyn  (page  188),  I  give  the 
famous  letter  written  by  Whistler  to  the  Hoboken  Etching  Club.  Its  argument  ends 
with  the  dogmatic  statement  that  "  the  huge  plate  is  an  offence." 

46 


several  of  his  noblest  etchings,  as  in  "Christ  Healing  the  Sick,"  to 
encoura<je  all  true  artists  who  know  that  they  are  ill  at  ease  and  weak 
when  small  plates  cramp  their  touch  and  dull  their  minds.* 
Consider  Piranesi,  for  example,  and  imagine  his  tussle  when  he  began 
to  measure  his  gifts  against  the  majestic  power  in  the  antiquities  of 
Rome.  How  ludicrous  it  would  have  been  if  he  had  tried  to  shut 
up  his  wit  and  zeal  in  a  trivial  maxim  about  the  beckoning  ideal  in 
small  prints!  Providence  had  endowed  Piranesi  with  a  nature  akin 
to  the  old  Roman  genius;  and  with  a  zest  which  never  tired,  the 
good  man  put  his  whole  nature  into  the  vast  ruins  which  spoke  to 
him  about  ancient  builders  and  architects,  until  at  last  he  was  able 
with  his  burin  and  etching-needle  to  restore  a  good  many  monu- 
ments wrecked  by  time  and  strife.  Years  went  by,  but  Piranesi's 
zeal  increased,  and  at  last  he  was  aided  by  all  his  children  and  by 
some  pupils  also.  Though  he  and  they  used  the  burin  for  certain 
broad,  trenchant  lines,  they  had  greater  freedom  with  the  etching- 
needle,  and  Piranesi  must  have  been  entertained  by  the  research  and 
alertness  that  the  technique  of  his  ample  plates  needed  from  year  to 
year.  He  employed  his  acids  with  a  most  varied  tact  and  skill,  and 
I  assume  that  he  trusted  his  eyesight,  not  a  watch  or  clock,  as  did 
good  craftsmen  during  the  uncertain  final  process  in  the  making  of 
lustre  ware.  I  know  not  with  what  mixture  he  prepared  his 
coppers,  but  a  better  etching-ground  for  large  plates  has  never  been 
concocted.  Piranesi  died  in  1778,  and  a  longish  time  afterwards, 
between  1835-37,  his  son  Francesco  published  at  Paris,  in  twenty- 
nine  volumes  folio,  about  two  thousand  of  his  big-fisted  prints. 
At  a  first  glance  it  seems  to  many  persons  that  Piranesi  ought  to  be 
looked  upon  as  Brangwyn's  prototype,  then  it  becomes  evident  that 
"forerunner"  is  the  right  word;  there's  no  real  likeness  between 
them  except  their  kindred  joy  in  hospitable  size  and  abundant  vigour. 
Piranesi  loved  historic  facts  even  more  than  he  loved  the  transmuta- 
tion of  such  facts  into  art  His  mind  was  deeply  reflective,  even 
scientific;  and  pretty  often  his  passion  for  mimic  texture  and  detailed 
breadth  may  be  too  photographic  for  present-day  eyes.  And  let  us 
remember  that  Piranesi  is  not  the  only  etcher  of  big  or  biggish  plates 
who  heralded  the  Brangwyn  style  and  methods.  Girtin's  Paris 
Views  are  not  little  prints,  either  in  size  or  style;  and  Girtin  handled 

*  It  is  worth  noting  also  that  in  Rembrandt's  etched  portraits  there's  a  great  variation 
of  size.  Compare  the  exquisite  and  tiny  portrait  of  Rembrandt's  mother.  No.  I  in 
Campbell  Dod^son's  Catalogue,  with  the  portraits  of  Jan  Uytenbogaert  (CD.  100  and 
126)  and  Jan  Six  (CD.  185). 

47 


the  etching-needle  with  a  fluent  ease  and  beauty  when  he  prepared 
his  Views  in  outHne  to  be  aquatinted  by  J.  B.  Harraden  and  F.  C. 
Lewis.  There  is  much  closer  kinship  of  emotion  between  Brangwyn 
and  Tom  Girtin  than  between  Brangwyn  and  G.  B.  Piranesi.  Girtin 
was  loved  by  Turner,  who  took  hints  from  Girtin's  heroic  breadth, 
and  who  said  one  day,  in  a  mood  of  self-depreciation,  "  Had  Tom 
Girtin  lived,  I  should  have  starved." 

Then  there  is  Seymour  Haden,  whose  output  has  no  rule-of-thumb 
notions  about  size.  True,  he  never  faced  a  sheet  of  metal  as  ample 
as  a  great  many  that  Brangwyn  has  tackled,  but — and  here  is  the 
main  point — his  temperament  as  an  etcher  was  too  versatile  and  too 
virile  to  make  a  fetish  of  small  prints. 

And  another  point  is  worth  noting.  The  bigger  the  plate  the  greater 
is  the  risk  of  failure ;  hence  no  etcher  is  at  all  likely  to  choose  huge 
plates  unless  he  feels  that  they  are  often  necessary  to  his  technical  in- 
spiration. For  what  other  reason  would  any  man  of  sense  add  to 
the  tricksiness  of  a  craft  full  of  hazard?  It  is  more  difficult  to 
spread  an  even  ground  over  large  plates,  more  difficult  also  to  get 
diversified  values  from  the  acid  bath,  without  mishaps;  and  thick 
lines,  helpful  in  woodcuts,  are  hard  to  manage  on  metals,  though 
their  value  under  shade  and  texture  is  as  important  to  etchings  on  a 
large  scale  as  were  strongly  marked  forms  to  the  engraved  design  that 
Mantegna  originated. 

Brangwyn  has  got  himself  into  some  hitches  and  scrapes  with  the 
thick,  insistent  lines,  but  he  has  used  them  many  times  as  deftly  as 
Turner,  when  Turner  intended  to  cover  them  with  mezzotint  and 
to  print  v/ith  brown  ink.  Thin  lines  would  have  been  lost  under 
the  mezzotint,  and  brown  ink  prevented  the  broad  and  deep  lines  from 
losing  their  plane,  or  challenging  overmuch  attention.  Brangwyn's 
ink  varies,  like  his  thoughtful  printing.  Usually,  when  it  is  dark, 
it  has  in  it  enough  burnt  sienna  to  mellow  the  black,  and  enough 
raw  sienna  to  add  a  smiling  translucency.  Some  prints  have  a 
golden  tint  and  some  a  greeny  lustre,  and  either  coloured  or  toned 
papers  are  used  frequently.  Still,  there's  another  side  to  these  matters. 
Devotees  of  fallacy  assert — 

2.  That  Brangwyn  s  'Etched  Work  gets  too  little  from  'Etching  and  over- 
much from  Printing  Methods. 

As  well  say  that  books  well  produced  owe  not  enough  to  their 
manuscripts  and  overmuch  to  their  printers,  binders,  papermakers, 

48 


I.NDU.STUIAI.    MKliSS    AMI    ^  I  KAl  N  :  '  STKEI. ' 


and  publishers:  for  just  as  a  manuscript  hook  is  intended  to  he- 
printed,  hound  and  published,  so  an  etched  plate  is  dependent  also 
for  its  completed  realisation  on  the  arts  of  printing  and  publication. 
Writer  and  etcher  alike,  if  they  wish  to  do  justice  to  their  handi- 
work, are  bound  to  obtain  what  they  need  from  printers  and  pub- 
lishers. Whether  an  etcher  trains  a  printer,  as  Rubens  and  Turner 
either  trained  or  helped  to  train  engravers,  or  does  the  printing 
himself,  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence,  if  the  states  and  impressions 
represent  all  that  he  desires  to  set  before  the  public ;  and  as  for  the 
means  by  which  ink  and  paper  are  handled  for  definite  and  ordered 
purposes,  this  factor  in  versatile  technique  is  governed  by  a  true 
artist's  purpose,  and  our  part  in  it  is  concerned  with  results  alone. 
Some  of  Brangwyn's  results  I  am  unable  to  like,  but  a  great  many 
of  their  phases  are  unrivalled,  and  the  management  of  ink  and  paper 
in  all  good  impressions  enriches  what  I  may  call  the  orchestra  of 
lights,  shades,  values,  tones  and  textures.  Print  connoisseurs  on  the 
Continent  know  how  to  value  the  finer  Brangwyn  etchings.  There's 
a  complete  collection  of  them  at  Paris,  Rome,  Munich,  Vienna,  as 
well  as  a  great  many  prints  in  each  of  many  other  public  collections. 
At  the  outset  of  his  etching  adventures  he  bought  a  printing  press, 
and  toiled  at  it  fondly,  blotted  with  enough  ink  and  sweat  to  mark 
him  out  as  an  apprentice,  though  not  with  enough  to  make  him 
one  half  so  remarkable  as  that  amusing  sketch  of  George  Dawe 
in  Charles  Lamb's  Recollections  of  a  Late  Royal  Academician.''^ 
The  more  closely  you  study  the  wonderful  charm  and  strength  that 
Brangwyn  has  obtained  many  times  by  various  means  as  a  printer  or 
from  printing  supervised  by  himself,  the  more  sympathetically  you 
will  feel  and  see  why  he  is  a  master  of  the  most  difficult  phase 
of  etching — the    union    of   line,    tone,    shade    and    texture.      Pure 

*  "  My  acquaintance  with  D.  was  in  the  outset  of  his  art,  when  the  graving  tools, 
rather  than  the  pencil,  administered  to  his  humble  wants.  These  implements,  as  is 
well  known,  are  not  the  most  favourable  to  the  cultivation  of  that  virtue  which  is 
esteemed  next  to  godliness.  He  might  '  wash  his  hands  in  innocency,'  and  so  meta- 
phorically '  approach  an  altar ' ;  hut  his  material  puds  were  anything  but  fit  to  be 
carried  to  church.  By  an  ingrained  economy  in  soap — if  it  was  not  for  pictorial  effect 
rather — he  would  wash  (on  Sundays)  the  inner  oval,  or  portrait,  as  it  may  be 
termed,  of  his  countenance,  leaving  the  unwashed  temples  to  form  a  natural  black 
frame  round  the  picture,  in  which  a  dead  white  was  the  predominant  colour.  This, 
with  the  addition  of  green  spectacles,  made  necessary  by  the  impairment  which  his 
graving  labours  by  day  and  night  (for  he  was  ordinarily  at  them  for  sixteen  hours  out 
of  the  twenty-four)  had  brought  upon  his  visual  faculties,  gave  him  a  singular  appear- 
ance, when  he  took  the  air  abroad ;  insomuch  that  I  have  seen  a  crowd  of  young  men 
and  boys  following  him  along  Oxford  Street  with  admiration  not  without  shouts.   .   .  . ' 

H  49 


line  etching  is  the  simplest  phase  to  a  trained  hand,  and  line  with 
shading  comes  next.  Nevertheless,  from  time  to  time,  without  a 
shadow  of  a  doubt,  the  linear  part  of  etching  plays  second  fiddle  to 
F.B.'s  printing  methods.  Then  I  believe,  rightly  or  wrongly,  that 
mezzotint  should  be  the  medium. 

3.    That  Braugwyn  as  an  Etcher  vies  too  much  against  the  qualities  of 
Oil-Painting. 

Yet  it  is — or  it  ought  to  be — a  fact  well  known  that  most  painters 
who  have  taken  to  etching  have  obtained,  wittingly,  or  unwittingly, 
qualities  like  those  in  their  pictures.  In  other  words,  they  etched 
as  they  painted,  like  Tiepolo,  Ostade,  Ruysdael,  Paul  Potter,  Berg- 
hem,  Vandyck.  In  Rembrandt  also,  as  Vosmaer  points  out,  there 
is   a   marked    parallelism    between    the    great    wizard's   painted   and 


etched  work,  his  early  manner  in  both  cases  being  timidly  experi- 
mental, and  in  both  he  grows  gradually  into  strength,  character, 
passion,  and  intense  fervour.  Besides,  in  all  his  most  important 
etchings  Rembrandt  is  engaged  with  the  same  problems  of  light  and 
shade  that  occupy  his  attention  in  oil-painting.  The  portrait  of 
Jan  Six  at  his  window  is  what  we  may  call  a  painted  etching,  so 
complete  is  the  illumination  obtained  by  studious  and  massed  tech- 
nique. Returning  to  a  lesser  genius.  Whistler,  let  us  note  how  the 
etchings  gravitate  towards  that  low  tone  and  mystery,  accompanied 
by  an  absence  of  organic  design  and  decorative  impact,  which  belong 
to  Whistler's  individuality.  What  is  Whistler  but  a  musician  who 
employs  brushes  instead  of  stringed  instruments,  and  who  conceals 
in  minor  keys  his  elusive  effects  in  low  tone  and  evasive  colour? 
But  this  matter  can  be  summed  up  briefly.  Far  too  many  writers 
on  art  imply  or  hint  that  a  versatile  man  should  keep  at  his  beck 

50 


and  call  several  aesthetic  temperaments,  and  that  he  should  employ 
perhaps  a  couple  in  his  etchings  and  several  others  in  his  paintings; 
though  even  Shakespeare  has  hut  one  aesthetic  temperament,  hence 
the  Shakespeare  style  is  evident  in  the  speech  of  all  Shakespeare's 
men  and  women.  For  a  genius  tliat  creates,  being  active  in  all  the 
things  that  it  creates,  must  leave  the  invariable  signs  and  symbols  of 
its  presence  throughout  its  productions,  just  as  sunlight  in  all  its  in- 
finities of  changeful  effects  is  always  sunlight. 

Similarly,  Brangwyn  can  no  more  delete  Brangwyn  from  his  etched 
work  than  he  could  dismiss  from  his  eyes  their  brown  lustre;  and 
since  the  Brangwyn  style  in  painting  has  the  qualities  that  we  know, 
and  since  a  passion  for  decorative  design  is  among  these  qualities, 
we  are  certain  to  find  the  same  qualities  in  his  etchings,  and  more 
noticeable  because  their  appeal  trom  black-and-white  is  more  definite 
than  their  harmonisation  from  a  rich  palette. 

Bluntly,  then,  Brangwyn  rarely  etches  for  print-cases  and  portfolios; 
he  etches  mainly  for  rooms,  and  those  prints  that  represent  him  most 
completely  as  a  great  etcher  always  look  best  when  they  are  hung  up 
as  pictures,  or,  preferably,  when  they  are  put  within  moulded  wood 
frames  forming  part  of  a  panelled  wall.  The  custom  of  suspending 
pictures  against  a  wall  is  one  to  be  thrust  aside  as  often  as  possible. 
Suspended  frames  not  only  collect  a  great  deal  of  dust,  which  is  dis- 
lodged by  fresh  air  from  open  windows ;  they  separate  pictures  from 
walls,  walls  from  pictures,  though  painters  and  architects  should 
have  a  common  aim  when  they  work  for  our  home  life.  Art  began 
to  sink  into  a  luxury  as  soon  as  painters  began  to  drift  from  mural 
painting  and  decorative  painting  into  easel  pictures,  done  at  random 
for  persons  and  rooms  unknown.  Even  the  lighting  of  most  rooms 
receives  little  attention  from  most  painters,  with  the  result  that  it  is 
more  by  good  luck  than  wise  management  when  oil-paintings  can  be 
seen  to  advantage  away  from  studios,  exhibitions,  and  public  galleries. 
Water-colours  look  well  in  all  rooms,  however  curtained  the  light 
may  be  ;  and  this  remark  applies  also  to  etchings,  and  above  all  to 
those  that  have  a  scale  large  enough  to  be  in  keeping  with  our  rooms 
and  furniture. 
Next  we  are  told : — 

4.    That  too  many  Brangwyn  Ktihiiigs  are  Melodramatic. 

Ah!  What's  the  meaning  of  melodramatic?  Is  the  last  scene  of 
*'Hamlet"  melodramatic,  or  is  it  high  tragedy? 

5^ 


The  word  melodrama  used  to  mean  a  variety  of  drama  having  a 
musical  accompaniment  to  complete  the  effect  of  certain  scenes,  as 
in  the  songs  w^ritten  by  Shakespeare  for  "Twelfth  Night,"  or  as  in 
the  union  of  Mendelssohn's  music  with  the  "Midsummer-Night's 
Dream."  In  opera,  again,  melodrama  is  a  scene  in  which  an 
orchestra  plays  a  rather  descriptive  accompaniment  while  an  actor 
speaks.  But  many  words  are  depraved  by  unxsthetic  periods.  To- 
day, in  current  talk,  melodramatic  is  a  term  to  give  offence,  as  it 
denotes  false  sentiment  and  overstrained  effects. 

I  should  be  insolent  if  I  commented  on  this  decadent  meaning  in  its 
alleged  relation  to  my  subject,  since  candour — sometimes  accompanied 
by  haste — is  an  invariable  mark  of  Brangwyn's  energetic  manliness. 
It  is  a  pity  some  act  of  public  penance  cannot  be  claimed  from  those 
who  try  to  defame  any  big  man  who  happens  to  be  at  odds  with 
their  temperaments  or  their  whims  and  prejudices.*  That  they  do 
no  harm  to  art  as  art  is  evident,  of  course,  but  they  keep  in  circula- 
tion a  great  many  fallacies  hurtful  to  that  general  influence  which  art 

*  When  I  began  this  book,  at  the  end  of  December,  I917,  I  wrote  to  one  of  our  lead- 
ing officials  in  the  art  world,  a  public  servant,  asking  for  his  help  in  certain  ways.  My 
letter  has  not  yet  been  acknowledged.  I  guessed  that  his  own  print  collecting  along 
certain  classic  lines  might  make  him  reluctant  to  answer  my  questions ;  but  if  I  had 
written  the  same  letter  to  any  Continental  official  of  public  art,  I  should  have  received 
an  answer  at  once,  as  I  know  from  long  experience  that  the  official  Continental  attitude 
towards  known  styles  and  schools  is  impersonal  when  the  purpose  of  a  book  is  public 
service,  akin  to  that  done  by  popular  galleries,  print-rooms,  and  libraries. 

52 


ought  to  have  when  a  nation  is  reputed  to  be  enlightened,  and  wlicn 
she  invests  year  after  year  about  twenty-seven  millions  of  pounds  in 
compulsory  education  alone. 

Even  sound  views  and  opinions  often  ruin  a  mind  that  borrows  too 
many,  for  men  have  no  great  wish  to  plod  into  thought  if  they  get 
without  thinking  the  wisdom  that  they  wish  to  show  off. 

5.  T/iat  the  Brangwyn  'Etchings  lack  Ideality,  being  too  wrapped  up 
within  the  Spirit  oj  our  Age. 

Ideality  ?  This  word  sends  us  back  to  the  Victorians,  a  great  many 
of  whom,  in  their  eagerness  to  progress,  borrowed  or  filched  a  great 
many,  too  many  pregnant  facts,  fine  ideas,  big  schemes,  acute  ob- 
servations, and  other  collected  treasures,  turning  their  brains  into 
classic  books  while  helping  to  muddle  their  country's  present  and 
future.  They  seemed  to  live  and  move  between  quotation  marks. 
To-day  a  different  peril  makes  much  ado.  Enthusiasts  ol  the  Victorian 
breed  are  uncommon;  whether  we  seek  for  them  in  art,  in  letters, 
in  science,  in  politics,  or  in  economics.  There  is  not  much  like 
Ruskin's  fervour,  nor  much  like  the  juvenile  zeal  that  showed  itself 
at  first  in  readins;  clubs  and  literary  societies;  there  is  nothing;  at  all 
like  the  economic  and  cocksure  politics  that  reverenced  Bentham, 
Mill  and  Co.  as  apostles  in  the  cause  of  everlasting  progress  ;  and 
who  can  fail  to  see  in  most  current  affairs  that  public  life  is  relaxed, 
unstarched,  a  vagrant  in  the  midst  of  detached  views,  opinions,  fads, 
illusions,  fallacies,  with  so  many  phases  of  cant  that  they  might  have 
a  Whitaker's  Almanack, entirely  their  own  ?  Even  science  has  lowered 
her  battle  flags;  no  longer  is  she  the  Boadicea  whom  Huxley  fought 
for  with  such  gallant  dogmatism.  It  is  now  her  conviction,  as  it 
has  long  been  the  belief  of  most  artists,  that  Man  is  not  a  rational 
creature,  but  in  the  main  instinctive,  like  other  animate  wonders  in 
God's  illimitable  and  eternal  mystery.  The  only  public  cocksureness 
comes  from  those  whose  moods  are  the  moods  of  headlines,  and  who 
need  newspapers  by  the  thousand  to  keep  their  minds  well  stored 
with  cant  and  confusion.  To  advocate  in  war  several  principles 
which  would  break  up  our  empire  if  they  were  applied  at  the  Peace 
Conference  is  one  example  of  the  cocksureness  that  confusion  begets. 
To  separate  art  from  the  people,  and  to  boast  over  this  tolly,  is 
another  example. 

Brangwyn  stands  apart  from  all  this  laxity,  an  observant  critic ;  and 
it  you  study  with  unbiassed  attention — that  is,  with  judgment,  can- 

53 


dour,  and  fairness — his  forthright  handiwork  at  its  hest,  as  in  his 
richer  and  finer  etchings,  you  will  see  that  its  yearly  sequence,  with- 
out any  loss  of  spirited  and  inspiriting  energy,  has  grown  stronger 
in  those  qualities  which  have  become  rare  in  our  public  life :  swift 
decision,  sincerity  of  purpose,  impassioned  self-help,  and  a  sympathy 
without  fawning  and  cant  for  those  who  are  handworkers.  I  do 
not  mean  that  Brangwyn  makes  his  appeal  as  a  political  democrat. 
Genius  sees  too  much  and  knows  too  much  ever  to  believe  sincerely 
that  millions  of  votes  from  minor  minds  can  rule  without  doing 
serious  harm  over  the  few  thousands  who  are  fitted  by  uncommon 
gifts  to  govern  wisely. 

But  fact  and  truth  belong  to  the  essence  of  statecraft,  and  Brangwyn's 
work  has  gained  so  much  from  our  industrial  enterprise  that  it  is 
observant  statesmanship  as  well  as  powerful  art. 


II 

I  do  not  mention  by  name  the  writers  who  are  hostile  to  Brangwyn's 
etchings;  with  one  exception,  it  is  not  worth  while.  They  are 
journalists  who  pass  judgment  on  any  art  that  comes  before  them  in 
an  exhibition.  But  the  exception  is  a  specialist,  a  writer  on  prints, 
old  prints  and  new,  and  a  specialist  ought  to  value  discretion.  I 
refer  to  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore,  who  has  gone  out  of  his  way,  in  a 
book  on  old  prints  mainly,  and  in  a  note  added  to  a  new  edition,  to 
make  a  temperamental  attack  on  Brangwyn  [Fine  Prints,  New  and 
Enlarged  Edition,  1910,  Appendix,  page  247). 

Sir  Frederick  is  a  good  judge  when  prints  are  dainty;  and  his  judg- 
ment is  often  wideawake  towards  those  technical  inspirations  that 
merit  the  epithets  "exquisite"  and  "subtle."  On  the  other  hand, 
he  is  likely  to  be  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  energetic  manliness. 
He  cannot  speak  of  Vandyke's  etched  portraiture  without  saying 
that  "the  touch  of  Vandyke  has  nothing  that  is  comparable  with 
Rembrandt's  subtlety,  yet  is  it  decisive  and  immediate,  and  so  far 
excellent."  Veritable  connoisseur!  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore  should 
feel  in  himself  why  the  virile  structure  and  charm  of  Vandyke's 
etched  portraits  are  persuasively  alive  with  insight,  and  sympathy, 
and  a  style  that  responds  to  each  sitter's  gifts  of  the  spirit.  He 
admits,  indeed,  for  thousands  of  great  judges  have  said  so,  that 
Vandyke  "seized  firmly  and  nobly  in  his  etched  portraits  of  men  the 
masculine  character  and  the  marked  individuality  of  his  models"; 

54 


i 


but  complains  that  "practically  his  etchings  arc  only  portraits  of 
men."  Only  portraits  ot  men!  And  why  should  a  connoisseur 
employ  the  futile  word  "practically"  like  a  hurried  journalist?  Is 
"The  Reed  Offered  to  Christ"  a  Vandyke  etching  to  be  forgotten? 
Is  it  "practically"  of  no  importance?  No  discreet  judge  would  pit 
Vandyke  against  Rembrandt  or  Rembrandt  against  Vandyke.  A 
foreign  specialist,  Dr.  H.  W.  Singer,  has  made  one  of  these  mistakes, 
as  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore  has  made  the  other.  Dr.  Singer  says: 
"We  have,  on  the  one  hand,  Vandyke  the  portrait  painter,  an  artist 
not  without  faults  and  certainly  not  outstripping  Titian,  Velasquez, 
Reynolds,  and  many  others  that  have  excelled  in  the  same  held. 
Opposed    to   this,   we    have   Vandyke   the  etcher,   really   without   a 


rival — I  do  not  consider  even  Rembrandt  a  successful  one  in  this 
case — the  inventor  of  a  type  that  has  served  as  the  model  of  all  sub- 
sequent days  down  to  our  own.  .  .  .  Far  from  misdirecting  anyone, 
his  creations  in  this  branch  of  art  have  served  and  will  serve  for  ever 
as  the  brightest  examples  for  all  men  attempting  portraiture  in  etch- 
ing." Legros  had  the  same  conviction,  but  never  set  Vandyke  and 
Rembrandt  to  compete  against  each  other.  Men  of  genius  are  too 
inestimable  to  be  turned  by  wayward  criticism  into  rivals. 
As  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore  is  lukewarm  to  Vandyke's  principal  etch- 
ings, '■'■only  portraits  of  men,"  what  has  he  to  say  about  Brangwyn's 
modern  virility  ?  Has  he  tried  to  live  with  a  Brangwyn  etching  ? 
His  attack  is  interesting,  and  original  also  as  indiscretion,  tor  it  is 
found  in  some  lines  of  ardent   praise  on   Mr.  E.  Carlton!      As  well 


attack  Milton  in  order  to  praise 
Herrick,  or  Turner  in  order  to 
praise  Witherington.  Sir  Fred- 
erick desires  that  Mr.  Carlton's 
etching  should  be  popular: 
"Why  is  it  not  already  better 
known?  Useless  question,  as 
far  as  the  big  public  is  con- 
cerned, when  people  go  into 
the  exhibition  and  fancy  that 
some  of  the  best  work  is  the 
self-  assertive  work  of  Mr. 
Brangwyn,  that  leaps  to  their 
eyes.  The  German  proverb 
says — or  Mr.  Robert  Browning 
once  told  me  that  it  said — 
'  What  has  a  cow  to  do  with 
nutmegs?'  And  what  have  people  who  do  not  understand  in 
the  least  the  spirit  of  etching,  got  to  do  with  the  modest, 
thoughtful  little  records  of  harbours,  quays,  and  all  that  lies 
upon  them — of  warehouse,  boat  and  barge — by  this  dainty,  accurate 
draughtsman,  Mr.  Carlton,  who  does  not  want  to  knock  any  living 
mortals  down — metaphorically  speaking — by  the  work  of  his  needle, 
but  to  charm  them  rather,  to  put  on  them  the  spell,  wrought  on 
those  who  are  worthy  to  receive  it,  by  the  rhythm  of  intricate  line." 
It  is  easy  to  pity  the  living  mortals  who  feel  that  they  may  be 
knocked  down  by  the  work  of  a  needle;  their  lot  in  this  rough 
world  must  be  hard  and  humiliating ;  but  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore 
forgets  that  critics  who  pride  themselves  on  their  delicacy,  and  who 
yearn  always  to  be  consoled  with  daintiness  and  the  rhythm  of 
intricate  line,  cannot  expect  to  keep  their  balance  when  a  masterful 
etcher  surrounds  them  with  the  outside  welter  of  human  realities. 
Brangwyn  makes  no  appeal  to  valetudinarians ;  he  is  to  our  own 
time  what  Rubens  was  to  Old  Flanders ;  and  let  us  remember  here 
what  Ruskin  said  about  the  namby-pamby  criticism  that  spoke  with 
contempt  of  the  swaggering,  great-hearted  Rubens  : 
"A  man  long  trained  to  love  the  monk's  vision  of  Fra  Angelico, 
turns  in  proud  and  ineffable  disgust  from  the  first  work  of  Rubens, 
which  he  encounters  on  his  return  across  the  Alps.  But  is  he  right 
in  his  indignation?     He  has  forgotten  that,  while  Angelico  prayed 

56 


/  ^ 


/ 


EXAMPLE    OF    PRELIMINARV    WORK  FOR    XWV. 

('A\Kr,-<    l\   CI.KVKI.ANI)   tfll    R  I     IKHSl-.    f.S.A 


and  wept  in  his  olive  shade, 
there  was  different  work  doing 
in  the  dank  fields  of  Flanders: 
— wild  seas  to  be  banked  out ; 
endless  canals  to  be  dug, 
and  boundless  marshes  to  be 
drained;  hard  ploughing  and 
harrowing  of  the  frosty  clay ; 
careful  breeding  of  the  stout 
horses  and  cattle ;  close  set- 
ting of  brick  walls  against 
cold  wind  and  snow;  much 
hardening  of  hands,  and  gross 
stoutening  of  bodies  in  all 
this;  gross  jovialities  of  har- 
vest homes,  and  Christmas 
feasts,  which  were  to  be 
the  reward  of  it;  rough  affections,  and  sluggish  imaginations; 
fleshy,  substantial,  iron-shod  humanities,  but  humanities  still  — 
humanities  which  God  had  his  eye  upon,  and  which  won,  perhaps, 
here  and  there,  as  much  favour  in  His  sight  as  the  wasted  aspects  of 
the  whispering  monks  of  Florence  (Heaven  forbid  that  it  should 
not  be  so,  since  the  most  of  us  cannot  be  monks,  but  must  be  plough- 
men and  reapers  still).  And  are  we  to  suppose  there  is  no  nobility 
in  Rubens'  masculine  and  universal  sympathy  with  all  this,  and  with 
his  large  human  rendering  of  it,  gentleman  though  he  was  by  birth, 
and  feeling,  and  education,  and  place,  and,  when  he  chose,  lordly  in 
conception  also?  He  had  his  faults — perhaps  great  and  lamentable 
faults — though  more  those  of  his  time  and  his  country  than  his 
own ;  he  has  neither  cloister-breeding  nor  boudoir-breeding,  and  is 
very  unfit  to  paint  either  in  missals  or  annuals;  but  he  has  an  open 
sky  and  wide-world  breeding  in  him  that  we  may  not  be  offended 
with,  fit  alike  for  king's  court,  knight's  camp,  or  peasant's  cottage." 
Here  is  imaginative  sympathy,  and  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore  will  do 
well  to  apply  its  apposite  principles  in  a  frank  and  brave  study  of  the 
Brangwyn  etchings.  Ruskin  is  not  drawn  towards  Rubens  by  any 
kinship  of  temperament;  he,  too,  likes  to  feel  "the  spell,  wrought 
on  those  who  are  worthy  to  receive  it,  by  the  rhythm  of  intricate 
line";  but  good  sense  warns  him  that  great  art  is  much  too  wide 
and  varied  to  be  embraced  by  a  spell  so  encloistered. 

»  S7 


Let  this  obvious  fact  be  remembered  as  we  pass  from  chapter  to 
chapter.  Etchings  of  many  sizes  will  be  studied,  and  we  shall  learn 
trom  the  spirit  of  Brangwyn's  best  art,  as  we  learn  from  other  in- 
vigorating men  of  genius,  that  all  the  world  (as  Montaigne  says) 
must  dance  in  the  same  brawl  towards  death,*  and  also  that  the  great 
who  do  their  best,  whether  they  die  young  or  old,  live  young  for 
ever,  and  ask.  the  world  to  be  young  with  them.  For  Brangwyn,  as 
the  next  chapter  will  illustrate,  sees  the  vast  human  drama  just  as  it 
is  acted  to-day  in  the  midst  of  Nature's  mingled  cruelties  and  caresses. 
His  vigour  cheers — his  vigour  at  his  best — just  because  life  claims 
infinite  courage,  and  perfect  candour,  and  as  much  plain  truthfulness 
as  artists  can  reveal.  A  true  optimist  goes  in  search  of  ugly  facts 
and  makes  them  known  as  foes  to  be  defeated;  while  a  false  optimist 
slinks  from  ugly  facts  into  an  isle  of  dreams  where  he  wraps  his  poor 
weak  head  with  rosy  clouds  and  then  prattles  cant.  In  Brangwyn's 
art  there  is  no  false  optimism,  and  the  true  is  free  from  gloom  and 
morbid  drooping. 

*  Montaigne's  words:  "All  the  world  in  death  must  follow  thee.  Does  not  all  the 
world  dance  the  same  brawl  that  you  do?  Is  there  anything  that  does  not  grow  old  as 
well  as  you.'  A  thousand  men,  a  thousand  animals,  and  a  thousand  other  creatures  die 
at  the  same  instant  that  you  expire.  'No  night  succeeds  the  day,  no  morning  rises  to 
chase  away  the  dark  mists  of  night,  wherein  the  cries  of  the  mourners  are  not  heard.' " 


58 


CHAPTER    III         THE    PARALLELISM    BETWEEN 
BRANGWYN    AND    LEGROS    AS    ETCHERS 


I 

arallelism  is  a  thing  to  be  sought 
and  ransacked,  being  very  useful 
when  we  strive  to  reach  the 
best  words  with  which  to  ex- 
press what  we  feel  and  see  in 
the  tine  arts.  A  parallel  is  never  close  enough  as  a  likeness  to 
discover  among  men  of  mark  a  Dromio  of  Ephesus,  and  a  Dromio 
of  Syracuse — a  comedy  of  errors  among  the  good  gifts  that  Provi- 
dence distributes.  Always  there  are  differences  enough  to  enrich 
a  parallel  with  variation,  even  marked  affinities  and  resemblances 
having  their  own  lights,  half-tones  and  shades,  their  own  indi- 
viduality. And  we  learn  quite  as  much  by  noting  where  and 
how  a  parallel  breaks  down  as  by  weighing  and  measuring  its 
aptness  and  its  partial  fellowship  elsewhere.  But  one  thing  more 
must  be  kept  conspicuously  before  the  mind:  that  mates  among 
artists,  unless  they  copy  from  each  other,  have  not,  as  a  rule,  a  family 
likeness;  it  is  in  the  general  temper  of  their  work,  in  their  general 
attitude  towards  life,  art,  history,  and  the  world,  that  they  match ; 
and  thus  they  are  nothing  more  definite  as  pairs  in  the  spiritual  world 
than  great  birds  ol  a  teather. 

Brangwyn  has  more  than  one  second  self  among  the  big  modern 
men,  and  he  has  ever  been  drawn  by  affinity  towards  Meunier, 
Millet,  and  Alphonse  Legros;  but  I  am  choosing  Legros  tor  three 
reasons.  The  brotherhood  is  most  evident  and  various ;  both  artists 
are  profuse  etchers  (Millet's  etchings  are  few);  and  I  studied  the 
Legros  prints  and  proots  and  states  with  Legros  himself.  Let  us 
choose  at  once  the  most  memorable  phase  in  their  resemblance,  keep- 
ing minor  points  and  differences  to  be  pondered  afterwards.  The 
thing  to  be  considered  at  once  unites  this  chapter  to  the  final  page 
of  Chapter  II. 

II 

What  is  the  first  problem  to  which  boys  of  genius  have  to  reconcile 
themselves,  either  wittingly  or  unwittingly,  by  instinct  or  by  thought 
and  meditation,  when  they  find  that  they  are  citizens  and  patriots  as 
well  as  artists,  and  that  life  and  the  world  in  a  great  many  ways  press 

59 


upon  them  incessantly  from  morning  until  afternoon,  and  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end?  It  is  the  deepest  of  all  problems  and  the  most 
perilous;  the  very  problem  that  brought  so  much  agony  of  spirit  to 
John  Henry  Newman,  that  it  nearly  drove  an  exalted  mind  from 
Christianity  into  pantheism,  the  doctrine  that  there  is  no  God  but 
the  combined  forces  and  laws  which  are  manifested  in  the  existing 
universe.  .^Whenever  I  think  of  this  problem — and  never  can  it  be 
absent  from  any  mind  that  sees  truly  and  reflects  honestly — I  am 
sure  that  the  title  that  fits  it  best  is  as  follows:  "  TV/f  Illusion  Called 
Peace  r 

No  illusion  can  ever  be  nearer  than  this  one  to  the  most  private  strife 
in  human  nature.  Even  the  earliest  of  all  tribesmen,  after  defeat  or 
after  famine,  earthquake,  or  searching  inundation,  must  have  yearned 
to  be  at  peace ;  that  is,  to  enjoy  freedom  from  danger  with  the 
presence  of  tranquillity  and   comfort.      From   the  action   of  strife, 

then,  there  came  a  reaction 
in  the  human  mind  felt  as 
a  desire  to  have  peace  —  a 
desire  felt  by  hunted  animals 
and  birds  as  well  as  by  man- 
kind ;  and  the  law  of  action 
and  reaction  being  what  it 
is,  equal  and  opposite,  a 
craving  for  peace  will  endure 
on  our  globe  until  strife  and 
war  end.  Can  they  ever  end.? 
No.  Innumerable  phases  of 
strife  are  as  permanent  as 
illness  and  hunger  and  thirst. 
Young  artists  have  to  meet 
this  fact  face  to  face  and  as 
bravely  as  they  can.  They 
observe  far  more  closely  than 
other  folk,  and  feel  more 
I  acutely ;  and  those  of  them 
who  pass  into  thought  soon 
perceive  that  cant,  humbug, 
claptrap — the  cloak  of  lies 
with  which  the  average  mind 
wraps  itself  for  warmth  and 


comfort — is  cowardice  turned  into  a  routine  by  a  desire  not  to  see  the 
awful  varied  phases  of  war  that  come  all  the  year  round  from  Nature's 
phenomena  and  from  mankind  as  a  part  of  Nature.  How  can  any 
young  artist  fail  to  see  that  organic  life  everywhere  feeds  either  on 
organic  lives,  like  hawks  on  small  birds,  or  on  things  that  live,  grow, 
and  bring  forth  small  copies  of  themselves,  as  corn  reappears  from  seeds 
into  flour  and  bread?  Some  living  thing  dies,  then  suffers  a  resurrec- 
tion of  vitality  whenever  appeased  hunger  renews  the  health  of  an 
organism.  Nourishment,  then,  like  gestation  or  like  birth,  belongs  to 
the  mystery  of  perennial  strife,  to  the  omnipresent  genius  of  million- 
fold  war;  and  what  are  young  artists  to  think  when  this  awful  truth 
stares  out  upon  them  from  their  eye-witnessing.?  Are  they  to  prattle 
about  peace  in  a  world  where  strife  is  multitudinous,  ranging  from 
love's  pains  in  self-sacrifice  to  dangerous  business  contests,  and  ravag- 
ing street  accidents,*  and  fierce  brute  hunger  ?  Let  us  hope  that 
they  tell  no  lies  to  themselves,  but  continue  bravely  to  discover  true 
thought  among  facts  seen,  then  weighed  and  measured. 
Both  Legros  and  Brangwyn  had  to  encounter  these  dread  matters  in 
the  midst  of  raw  privations.  Yet  they  never  blenched.  Their  art 
is  a  proof  that  they  faced  life  as  good  soldiers  face  battlefields.  Both 
were  loyal  to  their  colours.  Hurting  facts,  facts  full  of  conflict, 
pain,  awe,  and  mystery,  pressed  all  day  long  on  their  sensitiveness; 
and  it  is  worth  while  to  mention  a  few  because  they  are  permanent 
facts,  and  must  needs  be  pondered  by  those  who  have  honour  enough 
to  see  frankly.  Take  the  position  of  women  in  this  world.  If 
civilised  women  were  not  warriors  bred  and  born  from  all  the  ages 
of  courage  and  of  pain  and  woe,  how  could  they  bear  maternity  and 
their  lot  as  mothers.?  Babies  are  battles  won,  then  lost  far  too  often, 
since  almost  a  million  die  in  our  country,  year  after  year,  before  they 
are  twenty-four  months  old.  How  large  a  part  of  childhood  is 
a  campaign  against  heredity,  often  against  social  hindrances,  often 
also  against  gnawing  poverty,  and  always  against  the  physical  wars 
fermented  by  microbes!  Scarcely  an  hour  free  from  danger  comes  to 
any  child.  And  when  we  turn  from  this  fact  to  the  casualties  of 
ordinary  bread-winning,  in  trades  and  professions,  in  odd  jobs,  in 
overcrowded  tenements  and  foul  slums,  we  arrive  at  a  great  principle 

*  Between  1914  and  1918  we  learnt  that  street  accidents  in  our  country  caused  a  great 
many  more  casualties — about  five  times  more — that  German  air  raids  produced.  Yet 
our  deceptive  newspapers  took  the  daily  Juggernaut  of  our  streets  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course  while  shrieking  over  the  air  raids 

61 


— that  to  live  is  to  suffer  various  and  unceasing  war.  Whether  we 
sacrifice  colliers  to  mine  explosions,  or  sailors  to  the  sea,  or  mission- 
aries and  garrisons  to  bad  climates,  or  nurses  and  physicians  to  long 
contests  against  epidemics,  or  artisans  to  perilous  trades,  or  troops  to 
battles,  we  make  war,  and  bury  the  illusion  called  peace  under  the 
work  we  do  as  a  nation.  Yes,  and  on  those  fortunate  days  when  we 
have  pluck  enough,  candour  enough,  we  have  good  reason  to  rejoice 
over  our  lot.  For  the  yearning  after  general  peace,  rightly  understood, 
is  a  base  thing,  a  spiritual  neuter,  not  a  spiritual  conquest  over  evils. 
Human  nature  knows  but  one  peace — the  inward  rest  and  ease 
created  by  the  thorough  doing  of  brave  work.  Briefly,  then,  let 
politicians  alone  prattle  in  a  routine  ot  cant  about  the  illusion  called 
peace ;  they  are  the  dramatists  who  from  a  nation's  affairs  get  farces, 
comedies,  burlesques,  and  supreme  tragedies.* 

Ill 

Persons  of  common  sense  should  note  the  attitudes  of  genius  towards 
these  tremendous  matters.  Brangwyn  and  Legros  belong  to  that 
group  of  big  fearless  men  who  have  accepted  life  as  war,  each  in  his 
own  way;  and  this  group  is  by  far  the  most  noteworthy  in  art  and 
literature.  I  doubt  if  any  fore-rank  genius  of  any  era  can  be  found 
outside  it,  though  there  are  wonderful  rear-rank  men  among  those 
geniuses  who  have  chosen  to  be  either  monastic  towards  life  or 
dwellers  in  unsubstantial  fairy  places.  Shakespeare  accepts  life  as 
war,  like  Homer ;  and — to  choose  a  few  examples — so  do  Marlowe, 
Dante,  Milton,  Fielding,  Mantegna,  Michelangelo,  Titian,  Tintoret, 
Rubens,  Rembrandt,  and — to  take  another  poet — Corneille,  of  whom 
Napoleon  said:  "If  he  were  living  still  I  would  make  a  prince  ot 
him."  Further,  we  have  much  reason  to  rejoice  that  the  modern 
genius,  from  the  days  of  Delacroix,  Hugo,  Dumas,  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
has  endowed  us  with  a  good  many  big  men  who  in  various  ways 
have  seen  and  shown  that  life  and  strife  are  as  inseparable  as  sun- 
light and  shadow.  But  in  Legros  and  Brangwyn  especially  we  must 
note  how  varied  is  the  candid  recognition  that  man's  life  upon  earth 
is  one-third  sleep  and  two-thirds  strife,  and  that  even  sleep  has  its 
own  occasional  conflicts,  its  dreams  that  torture. 
In   Brangwyn's  work    I   feel   that   this   recognition,   probably  born 

*  The  current  notion  that  war  is  inevitably  armed  warfare  is  very  unthoughtful.  Our 
ancestors  were  wiser.  Consider  these  words  from  Psalm  Iv.  :  "  The  words  of  his 
mouth  were  smoother  than  butter,  but  war  was  in  his  heart." 

62 


^  -.■'i.-.FiJi.j<»P'«m-.n'  vj  II  m.iiiMi 


during  the  days  of  his  marine  pictures  and  cradled  and  reared  at  sea 
among  storms  and  fogs,  has  found  its  way  through  consciousness  to 
that  habitual  observation  which  unites  with  and  enriches  the  in- 
stinctive attributes  of  genius.  His  War  Posters  are  exceptions.  In 
these,  inevitably,  he  is  at  work  in  the  cause  of  publicity,  advertise- 
ment, propaganda.  Lessons  are  taught,  pleas  are  made,  and  the 
artist  is  conscious  of  his  mission  and  towards  himself  and  the  world's 
conflict.  But  when  he  is  quite  himself,  in  his  usual  stride  of  work, 
he  accepts  human  strife  as  he  accepts  the  English  climate  and  puts 
it  into  art  in  his  own  inimitable  manner.  Take  his  memorable 
etchings  of  "The  Feast  of  Lazarus"  (No.  139*),  "A  Coalmine  after 
an  Explosion"  (No.  59),  the  thronged  "Return  from  Work"  (No. 
107),  and  the  great  etchings  done  at  Messina  after  the  earthquake. 
Again,  for  waifs  and  strays,  the  shreds  and  patches  of  mankind, 
human  flotsam  that  is  hustled  here  and  there  by  every  tide  in  the 
affairs  of  men,  and  human  jetsam  that  sinks, — for  all  this  mortal 
wreckage  Brangwyn  has  a  deep  sympathy  and  pity,  like  that  which 
the  poor  give  without  fuss  to  the  poorer.     And  Legros  has  a  very 

*  "The  Feast  of  Lazarus,"  a  large  print,  28"  x  ipg",  was  etched  on  zinc  from  Nature. 
Who  else  has  dared  this  adventure .''  Meryon  etched  from  Nature  on  small  plates, 
never  on  large. 

63 


similar  great  emotion,  a  simple  modest  charity  of  the  heart,  intense, 
unpretending,  noble,  inspiring;  so  different  from  those  professional 
almsgivers  who  either  hurt  or  degrade  when  they  go  with  their  self- 
conscious  goodness  to  dole  out  relief  and  spying  words  to  the  Miss 
Jetsams  and  the  scattered  tribe  of  Flotsams.  I  should  like  to  com- 
pile a  book  on  the  differing  ways  in  which  artists  have  chronicled 
their  hearts'  intimacy  with  draggled  camp-followers  and  depraved 
loiterers  in  life's  warfare. 

Although  Legros  in  his  attitude  towards  phases  of  war  is  always 
manly,  strong  and  courageous,  although  there  is  no  whimpering, 
no  sentimentalism,  in  his  etched  tragedies  and  dramas,  he  is  more 
conscious  than  Brangwyn  of  those  perpetual  neighbours — Pain, 
Failure,  Death,  and  their  attendants.  He  reminds  me  of  a  brave 
physician  who  should  keep  from  year  to  year  unchanged  the  feelings 
of  an  amateur  nurse  at  home  when  someone  loved  is  in  danger.  The 
mystery  of  Death,  and  the  uncountable  guises  in  which  Death  visits 
all  living  things  and  creatures,  were  to  Legros  what  the  Paradise 
Lost  was  to  Milton.  How  often  did  he  ask  me  to  linger  with  him 
over  Rethel's  wonderful  series  of  prints  on  Death's  Triumphs !  and 
how  often  did  we  talk  together  about  his  own  noble  etchings  of 
The  Triumphs  of  Death:  "The  Proclamation,"  "The  Beginning 
of  Civil  War,"  "The  Combat,"  "After  the  Combat,"  and  "Out- 
casts from  the  Burning  City." 

These  five  etchings,  deeply  meditated  and  as  candid  as  "King  Lear," 
trouble  and  annoy  the  British  public,  the  British  public  being  often 
a  singular  Hercules  indeed ;  often  fed  on  cant  and  sentimentality, 
eager  to  find  amusement  free  from  thought,  and  so  fond  of  illusions 
that  it  will  coo  over  the  idea  of  everlasting  peace  when  a  very  bad 
war-map  invites  it  to  cry  out  sternly  for  victories.  But  Legros  did 
not  mind  when  his  work  was  disliked.  The  most  lofty  and  severe 
of  all  the  classic-romantic  artists  of  his  time,  he  never  stopped  or 
stooped  to  ask  himself  whether  he  was  before  or  behind  his  own 
period.  To  be  current  with  mankind,  the  eternal  human  drama,  is 
all  that  the  greatest  can  achieve,  or  need  wish  to  achieve,  in  the 
fugitive  seasons  of  three-score  years  and  ten.  Among  the  Legros 
etchings,  which  number  more  than  six  hundred,  there  are  many 
of  a  tender  and  winsome  appeal ;  but  the  deeper  prints,  with  their 
gravity  and  their  sternness,  will  never  be  liked  by  dreamers,  pacifists, 
and  whining  milksops,  nor  by  anyone  who  fails  to  learn  from  the 
strife  in  his  own  daily  lot  that  the  perpetual  toil  of  the  living  is  to 

64 


'^  n 


. \*»*J*> .•--=»- s.> 


■■  -V 


i«!Sa»*3«.JbliH^-;j_^ 


matkk  dulokosa 
belgica":  study 


build  up  death ;  and  also — since  we  all  dance  towards  the  hereafter 
in  the  same  brawl — that  the  companions  we  need  are  courage  and 
candour,  not  cant  and  make-believe. 

It  is  with  these  battleworthy  virtues  that  Legros  and  Brangwyn  ex- 
plore their  own  ways  through  the  millionfold  war  upon  which  the 
sunlight  pours,  often  with  a  scorching  tyranny ;  and  both  artists, 
obeying  each  his  own  judgment,  show  in  their  most  thorough  etch- 
ings a  weighty  repose,  a  tranquillity  full  of  energy  and  poise.  Their 
figures,  however  agitated  by  passions,  never  bustle,  the  movement 
being  one  not  of  tumult  but  of  rhythm  and  of  ordered  simplicity. 
Any  break  in  the  rhythm  of  a  design,  any  flaw  in  the  distribution  of 
light  and  shade,  any  hitch  in  the  handling  of  a  conception,  caused 
Legros  to  renew  his  work  in  a  different  "state";  and  sometimes  his 
discontent  went  on  until  as  many  as  nine  variants  of  the  same  etch- 
ing were  printed  off.  He  would  toil  hour  after  hour  with  his  scraper 
to  get  rid  of  an  offending  part,  and  often  he  would  cut  down  his 
plate  or  choose  one  of  a  larger  size;  and  through  all  these  changes, 
as  in  the  austere  "Procession  in  a  Spanish  Church"  (No.  49,  in  six 
states),  his  mind  brooded  always  over  the  dramatic  unity  of  his  im- 
pression. Brangwyn  is  more  direct  by  far,  sometimes  even  too 
direct;  his  auto-criticism  does  not  suffer  from  techiness;  and  it  has 
not  been  his  aim,  as  it  was  the  aim  of  Legros,  to  be  an  experimental 
labourer,  as  well  as  an  artist,  in  the  point  technique  of  etching. 
Though  Legros  was  unduly  self-critical  in  many  ways,  sometimes  he 
was  not  distressed  by  little  awkward  blunders,  just  as  Sir  Walter  Scott 
was  often  undistressed  by  slips  in  grammar  and  by  other  laxities.  He 
who  was  a  master  draughtsman  would  be  at  times  a  fumbling  pupil 
of  his  own  style;  and  Brangwyn  will  admit  readily  that  there  are 
days  when  he  joins  Legros  in  this  lack  of  command  over  his  etching- 
needle.* 

But  now  one  great  result  of  Legros'  untiring  selt-criticism  must  be 
noted:  namely,  the  rich  variation  that  it  gave  to  the  qualities  of  his 
etched  line.  To  pass  from  his  early  and  uncanny  illustrations  after 
Edgar  Poe's  tales  to  his  portraits  of  Victor  Hugo  and  G.  F.  Watts, 
or  from  one  of  his  late  dry-points  backward  to  other  early  work, 
such  as  "The  Communion  in  the  Church  of  St.  Medard"  (No.  54, 

*  Camille  Corot  put  very  prettily  the  difference  between  good  and  bad  days  in  the 
hazards  of  work.  He  said:  "There  are  days  when  /  paint;  on  these  days  all  is  bad 
for  me.  The  days  when  it  is  not  I  who  am  busy,  a  little  angel  comes  and  works  for 
me:   then  it  is  better!      It  is  the  little  angel  who  has  done  my  best  landscapes." 

K  65 


two  states),  is  a  very  uncommon  experience,  so  completely  different 
is  the  touch  of  hand  and  the  whole  technical  inspiration. 
The  younger  work  is  much  nearer  to  Brangwyn  than  the  later  Legros 
is  to  his  own  early  self,  though  we  must  study  his  gold-point  draw- 
ings, or  his  lithographic  portraits  (such  as  the  "Cardinal  Manning"), 
if  we  wish  to  see  Legros  in  his  most  exquisite  moods  of  classical  re- 
serve and  concentration.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Brangwyn  could  do 
similar  work  if  he  set  his  mind  to  it,  and  I  hope  he  will  set  his  mind 
to  it ;  but  now  he  prefers  to  follow  his  masterful  bent,  often  in 
moods  which  set  me  thinking  of  his  marked  kinship  with  that  which 
is  most  grave,  most  austere,  most  virile,  and  most  battleworthy  in 
Legros'  versatile  appeal. 

As  young  men,  and  also  in  after  years,  these  two  great  artists  were 
drawn  towards  religious  inspirations.  Already  we  have  seen  what 
Brangwyn  has  achieved  as  etcher  and  painter  of  Bible  subjects. 
(pp.  1 6,  27),  and  now  let  us  glance  at  Legros'  conceptions,  keeping 
in  the  background  of  our  thoughts  his  biblical,  evangelical,  and 
general  religious  paintings:  his  "Amende  Honorable,"  his  "Enfant 
Prodigue,"  "Lapidation  de  St.  Etienne,"  "The  Dead  Christ,"  his 
"Scene  de  I'lnquisition,"  the  "Ex  Voto,"  the  "Benediction  de  la 
Mer,"  "L'Angelus,"  and  "Femmes  en  Prierc." 

Among  the  etchings  let  us  choose  "The  Death  of  St.  Francis"  (No. 
56,  in  three  states),  "Some  Spanish  Singers"  (No.  59,  in  two  states), 
"The  Procession  in  a  Spanish  Church"  (No.  49,  in  six  states),  the 
"St.  Jerome"  (No.  58),  "The  Communion  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Medard"  (No.  54,  two  states),  and  "The  Procession  through  the 
Vaults  of  St.  Medard"  (No.  48).  The  last  work,  repeated  in  seven 
variants,  may  be  described  as  a  sort  of  bas-relief  in  etching,  for  all 
the  women  are  grouped  in  a  line  on  one  plane,  just  as  they  would  be 
in  a  bas-relief  frieze;  and  it  is  to  be  noted  also  that  this  formal 
arrangement  of  the  design  is  emphasized  by  its  being  brought  into 
sharp  contrast  with  a  most  careful  display  of  pure  realism  in  his 
women's  stunted  figures,  and  their  poor  empty  faces,  in  their  hideous 
crinolines  and  flounces,  their  grotesque  make-believe  of  shabby-genteel 
fashions.  All  this  observation  from  life's  pathetic  irony  among  the 
very  poor  is  put  in  by  a  kind  hand  with  rugged  force,  as  in  Brang- 
wyn's  "Old  Women  of  Bruges,"  and  his  "Feast  of  Lazarus." 
Apart  from  this,  let  me  note,  "The  Procession  through  the  Vaults 
of  St.  Medard"  is  the  one  important  etching  of  the  first  series  in 
which  a  faithful  rendering  of  things  seen  day  by  day,  though  united 

66 


to    religious    emotion,    dominates     the 

etcher's   aims  and  results.      The   other 

proofs  and  states,  when  equally  realistic, 

are   more  imaginative,   though   equally 

bluff  in  technique  and  searchingly  austere 

in  emotion.  "The  Death  of  St.  Francis," 

"The  Procession  in  a  Spanish  Church," 

"Some  Spanish  Singers,"  and  "A  Spanish 

Choir" — these     four      etchings      have 

intense    vigour    and    distinction,    and    also    a    new    earnestness    of 

purpose,  ascetic,  persistent,   dramatic,   and   blent    with   a   deep  and 

true  sympathy  for  the  early  masters.     Thus  there  is  a  somewhat  of 

Giotto  in   "The  Death  of  St.   Francis."     To  be  sure,  one  cannot 

localise   this   somewhat,   just   as   one   cannot   explain   how   or    why 

Brangwyn's  picture  of  "The  Baptism  of  Christ"  has  in  its  modernity 

a  quaint  ingenuous  fervour  that  belongs  to  a  bygone  age.     There  is 

no  analysis  for  these  finer  elements  of  spirituality  in  art.     The  point 

is  that  Legros  and  Branewvn  absorbed  influences  from  the  far-off 

1  1  T 

past,  the  Giottesque  giving  a  faint  or  vague  ethos  to  the  Legros 
etching;  and  it  brings  us  into  much  closer  fellowship  with  St.  Francis 
and  his  four  kneeling  disciples  than  any  technical  skill  more  modern 
in  spirit  could  succeed  in  doing. 

There  is  only  one  way  in  which  an  artist  can  teach  himself  to  view 
an  ancient  subject  from  within  its  contemporary  atmosphere,  which 
is  far  and  away  more  important  than  contemporary  costumes.  He 
must  learn  to  be  at  home  in  a  chosen  period  as  children  live  in  story- 
books; must  think  in  accordance  with  the  period's  thoughts,  ideals, 
superstitions,  and  so  become  the  foster-child  of  a  vanished  age.  But 
this  way  of  studying  the  past  is  so  difficult  that  it  has  only  a  few 
devotees.  Happily,  great  artists  possess  the  gifts  of  divination  and 
dramatisation ;  a  few  pictures  and  a  few  books  are  all  that  they  need, 
unless  they  wish  to  be  archaeologists  in  the  Alma  Tadema  manner, 
which  is  "up  and  down  as  dull  as  grammar  on  the  eve  ot  holiday." 
Legros,  deeply  moved  by  the  character  of  St.  Francis,  as  Brangwyn 
is,  wished  to  work  as  a  moved  spectator  of  the  scene  he  recalled ; 
and  he  did  not  go  far  astray  from  a  noble  success.  Indeed,  not  his 
technical  aptness  only,  but  his  religious  fervour  also,  and  his  naive 
composition,  come  from  a  brave  and  good  attempt  to  endow  his 
death  of  St.  Francis  with  a  spirit  and  a  style  that  accord  with 
medisval   character.     And  Brangwyn  has  achieved  similar  feats   of 

67 


divination,  though  archsologists,  who  think  far  more  of  detail  than 
of  spirit  and  character,  could  pick — and  do  pick — many  a  hole  in 
them ;  just  as  tailors  who  visit  our  exhibitions  have  much  to  say 
against  the  scorn  that  artists  have  for  "cut"  and  cutters. 

Again,  when  we  think  of  Brangwyn  and   Legros  in  relation  to 

their  more  rugged  and  insistent  etchings,  let  us  note  what  they  are 

and  what  they  are  not.     They  are  never  puritanical,  over-religious, 

and  arrogant;  but  they  know  how  to  be  austere,  ascetic,  rigorous, 

and  fervent.     Sometimes  they  are  too  arbitrary,  but  never  brutal  or 

ruthless;  and  they  know  when  to  set  just  store  by  apt  bluntness  and 

sternness.     They   keep    away   from  qualities  which   are  tart,  sour, 

caustic,  acrid,  surly,  peevish,  sullen,  irascible,  virulent,  malevolent ; 

but,  when  necessary,  they  are  curt,  bluff,  rugged,  brusque,  and  pretty 

often  uncouth.     They  have  nothing  to  do  with   boudoirs,  and  are 

never  courtiers  at  ceremonies  of  State;  but  in  their  kindred  passion 

for  humble  folk  and  the  war  of  life,  they  show  that  chivalric  emotion 

is  a  grace  not  of  external  symbols,  but  of  the  heart's  good  breeding. 

If  an   etcher  desires   to   rival   Legros'   "The   Barge — Evening,"   or 

Brangwyn's  "The  Tow-Rope,  Bruges,  1906,"  his  whole  nature  must 

be  a  perfect  gentleman  in  the  ranks — the  ranks  of  life's  warfare. 

These  etchings  belong  to  similar  moods,  and  their  subjects  are  akin. 

Legros  returned  to  this  motif  again  and  again,  and  always  with  the 

same  zest  and  profound  sympathy.     A  noble  landscape  is  beyond  the 

river,  an  uneven  height  embowered  among  trees  and  crowned  with  a 

snug  French  village.     A  great  fire  of  sticks  throws  up  a  torchlike 

flame  and  smoke   that   flare  into   the  sun's  afterglow;  and   a  poor 

drayhorse  of  a  man,  bent  double  under  the  jaded  routine  of  his  daily 

fatigue,  pulls  at  a  long  tow-rope  that  shackles  him  to  a  long,  secretive 

barge  lying  so  flat  and  low  upon  the  water  that  it  seems  to  be  a 

smuggling  craft  from  that  mythical  river  in  the  lower  world,  over 

which  poets  in  their  darkling  hours  will  ever  cross  in  thought  on 

their  way  to  the  regions  of  the  dead.      Man  and  barge  haunt  and 

overcome  the  great  landscape,  just  as  other  bad  news  everywhere  is 

tyrant  over  all  that  it  affects ;  and  hence  this  etching  belongs  to  what 

Legros  named  his  "garden  of  misery,"  that  is  to  say,  his  deep  and 

tender  sympathy  for  all  pariahs,  outcasts,  tramps,  beggars,  and  other 

casualties  of  society.     In  Brangwyn's  etching*  the  barge  is  unseen, 

and  no  fewer  than  five  drayhorse  men — they  are  drawn  in  a  scale 

♦  It  is  etched  on  zinc,  like  the  most  of  Brangwyn's  work,  and  it  measures  3  if  in.  by 
2i;i  in.      It  was  etched  also  from  Nature,  not  from  a  drawing. 

68 


■THK    FEA.sr   III     I.A/.\I<1!>.       AFTKR  THE. SECOND 
STATJ.;    OF    KTrHIXC    N,,.   l:l;..  ON   ZINC.  ifi,x[\:miy. 


somewhat  too  big  for  the  plate — are  haltered  to  the  rope,  and  make 
themselves  known  as  wastrels.  Each,  after  a  slack  manner  of  his 
own,  chews  the  bitter  cud  of  his  stale  fatigue  while  his  brain — his 
birthright  through  perhaps  a  million  years — is  half  asleep  among  surly 
oaths,  or  half  awake  in  a  poor  stock  yearning  after  faro  beer.  And  the 
old  great  houses  of  Bruges,  built  by  hands  with  brain  in  every  finger, 
a  keen  wit  in  every  busy  tool,  are  dimly  present  behind  these  five 
rough  blunderers  of  a.d.  1906. 

.    .   .   "Yet  the  will  is  free; 
Strong  is  the  soul,  and  wise,  and  beautiful; 
The  seeds  of  God-like  power  are  in  us  still. 
Gods  are  we,  bards,  saints,  heroes,  if  we  will." 

You  knov/  Brangwyn's  "Old  Women  of  Bruges,"*  in  which  every 
detail  ot  clothing  suggests  a  routine  or  custom  that  some  poor  creature 
has  obeyed?  And  you  know  "La  Mort  du  Vagabond"  by  Legros  ? 
It  is  an  etching  toned  with  aquatint,  for  the  intensity  of  the  artist's 
feeling  needed  a  somewhat  that  etching  alone  would  not  giv^e.  On 
several  occasions  Legros  mingled  aquatint  with  etching,  just  as 
Brangwyn  adds  tone  and  body  to  many  prints  by  the  skill  with  which 
he  applies  ink  to  his  plates.f  Both  artists  are  moved  by  similar 
emotions  when  they  appeal  to  us  in  these  details  of  manipulative 
craftsmanship.  "La  Mort  du  Vagabond,"  the  aquatint  deleted, 
would  be  but  a  skeleton  of  itself;  just  as  Brangwyn's  presence  at  the 
death  of  those  other  vagabonds,  veteran  ships  which  are  being  broken 
up  atter  all  their  many  victories  over  winds  and  waves,  would  be 
greatly  harmed  if  the  resources  of  thoughtful  printing  were  not 
added  to  their  etched  workmanship.  "Breaking-up  the  'Hannibal' 
at  Woolwich,  1905,"  or  "Breaking-up  the  'Caledonia'  at  Charlton 
in  1906,"  is  to  Brangwyn's  earlier  etchings  what  "La  Mort  du  Vaga- 
bond" is  to  the  black  tulips  in  Legros'  "garden  of  misery." 
And  there's  another  thing  to  be  weighed  and  measured.  Which  is 
the  more  tragical  in  Legros'  great  print,  the  lonely  outcast  under  a 
chill,  wet  wind,  with  his  dying  hand  pressed  upon  a  bundle  in  which 
he  carries  his  little  all  of  soiled  comfort,  or  the  gaunt  old  ravaged 
tree,  leafless  and  forlorn,  that  grips  the  earth  firmly,  though  storms 

*  This  fine  study  of  character  was  cut  down  and  altered,  and  is  known  to-day  as  "The 
Old  Women  of  Longpre"  (No.  173). 

t  Brangwyn  also  has  used  aquatint  with  impressive  effect,  as  in  the  second  state  of  the 
"  Bargebuilders,  Brentford"  (No.  20,  i:;^  in.  by  l3Jin.),  which  could  hang  side  by  side 
with  Legros'  "Fishing  with  a  Net — Evening"  (No.  90). 

69 


have  thrown  it  a  good  many  yards  out  of  the  perpendicular?  Legros 
dehghted — and  Brangwyn  delights — to  reveal  tragedy  in  things  in- 
animate, just  as  that  Anglo-Frenchman  and  sailor,  Charles  Meryon, 
with  his  haunted  and  haunting  genius,  loved  to  put  I  know  not 
what  of  human  passion  and  pathos  into  bricks  and  stones ;  as  if  old 
buildings  retained  somehow  in  ancient  cities  low  whispering  minds 
bequeathed  to  them  by  forgotten  yesterdays  and  the  dead  who  are 
dust.  I  know  not  how  else  to  express  the  uncanniness  of  Meryon, 
whose  etchings  are  at  times  so  eery  that,  to  my  mind,  they  are  almost 
supernatural  in  the  suggestion  they  give  of  human  suffering  as  time's 
own  veteran.  And  now  and  again,  perhaps  unwittingly,  perhaps 
without  conscious  effort,  Legros  and  Brangwyn  rediscover  for  us  the 
common  havoc  in  the  midst  of  strife  that  imparts  to  all  things  ani- 
mate and  inanimate  a  universal  fellowship  in  the  looks  and  aspects 
of  high  tragedy.  Brangwyn's  etched  prints  of  the  "Duncan"  and 
the  "  Britannia,"  for  example,  are  tragedies  that  belong  to  our  sea- 
faring lot  and  destiny  ;  they  do  not  mark  what  is  past  or  finished, 
like  the  tragedies  drawn  from  English  history  by  Paul  Delaroche. 
Is  there  an  epic  emotion  greater  or  more  needful  than  that  which, 
instead  of  making  a  fetish  of  man's  brain,  his  Pandora  box,  reveals 
Mankind  and  Inanimate  Nature  as  subject  to  the  same  rule  and  lot 
in  the  mysterious  ordering  of  the  universe?  Only  a  man  here  and 
there  has  used  his  mind  as  ablv  as  birds  and  beasts  and  insects  have 
used  their  apt  instincts;  and  the  result  is  that  most  men  and  nations 
have  been  cursed  far  more  often  than  they  have  been  aided  by  their 
big  brains.  So  I  am  always  greatly  moved  when  a  fine  artist  gains 
from  things  inanimate  a  new  aspect  of  that  commonplace  which 
either  humbles  the  vainglory  in  men  of  a  day  (as  when  snow  prevents 
a  German  advance  or  tempests  overcome  artillery),  or  shows  that  there 
are  many  greatnesses  without  human  intellect  where  man  is  feeble 
and  out  of  place.  If  only  the  sun  could  speak,  if  only  his  rays  could 
murmur  criticisms  from  dawn  to  dusk,  La  comedie  hutnaine  would  be 
conducted  by  a  stage  manager  and  creative  playwright  with  a  com- 
plete vision  of  all  the  futilities  in  mankind's  history.  Then  progress 
would  be  certain,  and  not  a  stock  theme  of  human  self-praise. 
Later  we  shall  see  that  Brangwyn  has  etched  a  good  many  noble 
plates — and  some  which  are  not  good — wherein  things  animate  are 
dwarfed  into  merited  triviality  by  their  inanimate  surroundings;  and 
Legros'  attitude  is  often  similar.  He  admits  no  animate  creature  of 
any  sort  into  his  dripping  print  of  the  "Storm"  (No.  288,  second 

70 


state,  and  a  dry-point);  and  note  how  he  acts  "In  the  Forest  of 
Conteville"  (No.  352),  an  arboreal  masterpiece.  Let  us  compare  its 
third  state  with  the  second.  Both  are  grim  and  masterful,  but  the 
second  has  a  man  in  it,  and  Legros  telt,  as  we  all  must  feel,  that  the 
man  should  be  at  home,  where  he  will  have — or  will  believe  he 
has — some  importance.  So  the  intruder  is  banished  from  the  third 
state,  a  fine  haughty  tree  occupies  his  place,  and  the  other  trees  have 
added  many  years  to  their  bulk  and  beauty.  Justice  to  a  forest  has 
been  done,  sterner  and  finer  justice  than  .Ruysdael  does  to  one  in 
a  good  etching  that  reveals  his  fondness  for  great  oaks. 
And  would  you  be  glad  or  annoyed  it  Brangwyn  had  put  a  human 
figure  in  the  foreground  of  his  etching  called  "  The  Storm,"  with 
its  tall  dark  trees  and  its  wind-swept  energy  and  amplitude  of  space? 
I  should  swear.  Man's  place  in  this  dramatic  landscape  is  in  the  cart 
beyond  those  gray  palings  where  the  road  loses  itself  in  shade  under 
adult  poplars.  F.  B.'s  "  Storm  "  is  in  the  same  mood  as  Legros',  but 
receives  some  graver  accents  and  sterner  printing.  Many  landscapists 
would  have  spoilt  Legros'  drenched  poem  by  foisting  two  or  three 
storks  into  a  swampy  pond.  How  fond  they  are,  these  landscapists, 
of  what  they  call  "a  little  animal  animation,"  or  "a  bit  of  human 
interest."      In  the  eighteen-eighties  they  had  a  craze  for  black  pigs. 


71 


begun  by  R.  B.  Browning,  the  poet's  son.  Negro  pigs  were  seen 
even  in  places  where  black  pigs  were  unknown.  Landscapists  carried 
a  piggery  in  their  paint-boxes.  And  think  of  Claude  Lorrain,  or 
Claude  Gelee.  Though  wiser  and  freer  as  an  etcher  than  as  a  painter, 
how  seldom  does  he  resist  the  spell  of  "animal  animation!"  He 
never  asks  us  to  remember  that  distrust  of  minor  brains  ought  to  be 
welcomed  as  the  beginning  of  human  progress.  Among  his  prints, 
which  number  thirty  odd,  minor  brains  are  too  busy,  as  in  cows, 
goats,  and  their  attendants.  Even  the  best  of  Claude  etchings,  "The 
Drover,"  is  a  noble  landscape  hurt  by  nine  dull  cows  and  a  ruminant 
man. 

Animate  interest,  indeed  I  How  many  men  and  women  with  faggots 
on  their  backs  have  limped  their  way  into  pictures.?  Even  Legros 
was  not  proof  against  this  faggot-bearer,  but  he  turned  the  old 
recipe  several  times  into  Death  and  the  Woodman.  Is  it  not  time 
for  young  landscapists  to  learn  with  other  folk  that  men  owe  many 
stimulative  acts  of  grace  to  mankind's  potential  virtues,  and  that  a 
chief  among  them  is  the  need  of  improving  mankind  by  deleting  a 
a;reat  deal  of  "human  interest"  from  their  own  lives  and  labours? 
Legros'  airy  and  gracious  etching,  "A  Sunny  Meadow"  (No.  340), 
is  perverted  by  a  man  who  lies  at  full  length  near  the  foreground, 
giving  a  balancing  note  to  the  exquisite  design  that  three  or  tour 
rabbits  would  have  given  within  the  sweet  serenity  of  a  happy  day. 
Later  we  shall  see  how  Brangwyn  employs  the  supernumeraries  that 
enter  into  the  drama  of  his  etched  work,  often  with  a  varied  aptness, 
and  sometimes  not.* 

IV  ' 

Great  students  of  strife,  like  Brangwyn  and  Legros,  are  seldom  much 
attracted  in  art  by  strife  in  its  military  aspects,  except  in  a  picture 
here  and  there,  like  Charlet's  "Retreat  from  Russia,"  or  Boissard  de 

*  I  have  overstressed  intentionally  this  attitude  towards  animate  figures  in  landscape 
because  it  contains  several  elements  of  useful  truth  which  are  usually  passed  over  in 
silence  by  critics  and  interpreters.  The  introduction  of  human  and  animal  life  into 
landscape  depends  on  two  factors  :  the  character  of  each  landscape  and  the  degree  of 
tact  and  skill  and  poetry  revealed  by  an  artist  (a)  in  his  choice  of  apt  animate  figures, 
and  (b)  in  his  handling  or  treatment.  But  every  landscapist  believes  that  his  figures 
are  apt  and  right — a  huge  mistake.  When  a  landscape  and  its  animate  life  are  in 
happy,  inevitable  accord,  every  one  will  agree  with  Professor  Selwyn  Image,  who  says, 
"  To  me  a  landscape  without,  at  any  rate,  some  suggestion  of  human  and  animal  life  is 
almost  as  a  face  with  its  eyes  gone."  The  word  "animal"  includes  birds,  of  course, 
whose  presence  in  some  landscapes  gives  a  winged,  exploring  hope  to  nature's 
most  sinister  desolateness. 

72 


Boisdenier's  "  Kpisode  dc  la  Retraitc  de  Moscou"  (Musee  de  Rouen), 
a  little-knowfi  great  picture  of  epic  grandeur,  and  within  the  com- 
panionship of  Millet,  Meunier,  Butin,  Cottct,  Brangwyn  and  Legros. 
Among  all  the  many  etchings  by  our  artists  there  is  not,  I  believe,  a 
military  subject,*  though  both  learnt  in  early  youth  to  understand 
the  occasional  need  and  utility  of  armed  strife.  One  evening  I  re- 
lated to  Legros  the  argument  of  Ruskin's  lecture  in  praise  of  armed' 
strife,  and  he  was  moved  into  an  assent  somewhat  wistful.  Ruskin 
learnt  five  vast  things  from  history,  modern,  mediasval,  and  ancient: 

1 .  That  no  great  art  ever  rose  on  earth  but  among  a  nation  of 
soldiers ; 

2.  That  there  is  no  great  art  possible  to  a  nation  but  that  which 
is  based  on  battle; 

3.  That  in  our  times  the  arts  have  remained  in  partial  practice 
only  among  nations  who  have  retained  the  minds  of  soldiers; 

4.  That  vices,  not  virtues,  are  likely  to  abound  in  social  life  when 
civilised  men  are  freed  for  a  longish  time  from  the  peremptory 
discipline  of  armed  strife; 

5.  And,  in  brief,  "that  all  great  nations  learned  their  truth  of 
word,  and  strength  of  thought,  in  war;  were  nourished  in  war, 
and  deceived  by  peace ;  trained  by  war,  and  betrayed  by  peace : 
in  a  word,  were  born  in  war  and  expired  in  peace." 

It  was  very  strange  to  Ruskin  to  discover  all  this — and  very  dread- 
ful— but  he  saw  it  to  be  quite  an  undeniable  fact.  But  in  his  lecture 
he  forgets  to  think  without  laxity.  When  he  uses  the  word  "peace" 
he  means  no  more  than  the  absence  of  armed  contest ;  and  the  word 
"war"  as  he  employs  it  means  no  more  than  the  presence  of  armed 
contest.  He  forgets  the  omnipresent  and  universal  strife,  which  in- 
cludes all  natural  and  human  agencies  that  waste,  ravage,  kill,  do 
harm  in  any  way,  cause  pain  by  any  means. 

Moral  and  intellectual  nerve  are  always  impaired  very  much  by  great 
poverty,  and  also  by  much  material  prosperity,  by  a  flood  tide  of 
high  profits  and  a  roaring  trade.  When  Ruskin  says  that  peace  goes 
with  sensuality  and  selfishness,  corruption  and  death,  we  must  regard 
the  word  "peace"  as  a  synonym  for  disintegration  and  decay,  dis- 

*  More  than  once  Legros  reveals  the  tragedy  of  revolution,  as  in  the  early  etching 
called  "L' Ambulance";  but  these  subjects  are  not  ntUitary. 

^  73 


astrous  phases  of  civil  war;  and  when  Ruskin  adds  that  "war  is  the 
foundation  of  all  the  arts,"  and  also  "of  all  the  high  virtues  and 
faculties  of  men,"  he  refers  to  armed  strife  only ;  and  even  here  we 
must  note  his  misuse  of  the  word  "  foundation,"  as  the  relation  be- 
tween great  armed  strife  and  great  art  is  not  one  of  cause  and  effect. 
Success  in  both  arises  from  an  awakened  greatness  in  a  people,  and 
both  are  dependent  on  those  inborn  gifts  for  fighting  which  man- 
kind has  preserved  through  innumerable  ages  of  combative  history, 
social,  moral,  religious,  commercial,  intellectual,  international,  and 
internecine.  Delete  from  our  national  character  the  primal  fighting 
virtues,  and  the  British  Empire  would  fall  into  fragments,  and  our 
social  life  would  be  invertebrate  and  futile.  Good  and  evil  alike 
depend  on  their  motive-power;  and  when  a  noble  cause — or  a  cause 
that  is  looked  upon  as  noble — sends  men  forth  into  great  armed 
battles,  a  whole  nation  may  rise  with  the  cause  into  greatness,  like 
the  Greeks  before  and  after  Marathon,  or  like  that  inspiration  of  the 
Crusades  which  became  also  the  inspiration  of  Christian  art  and 
poetry. 

Consider  too  that  wonderful  ferment  in  the  soul  of  England  which 
ennobled  every  phase  of  Elizabethan  enterprise,  or  that  other  ferment 
which,  extending  from  Marlborough's  victories  to  its  disappearance 
after  the  Crimean  muddles,  endowed  our  country  with  a  truly 
magnificent  sequence  of  big  men  and  big  achievements.  And  the 
present  armed  war,  the  vastest  in  all  history,  will  it  be  followed  by 
a  splendid  new  roll-call  of  artists,  authors,  and  other  men  of  genius .? 
Let  us  hope  so,  despite  the  fact  that  incalculable  agencies  are  hard  at 
work.  Perhaps  the  spiritual  reaction  in  social  life  may  be  towards 
enervation  and  disruption.  The  baleful  influence  of  noisepapers  by 
the  thousand  is  one  perilous  factor ;  the  self-worship  of  democrats  is 
another;  industrialism  is  a  third;  and  far  too  many  modernists  in 
their  heart  of  hearts  are  weak  and  sentimental.  This  fact  explains 
why  most  of  our  writers  have  encountered  the  present  war  in  a 
temper  often  of  cant  and  often  of  wistful  approval,  half  at  variance 
with  true  martial  courage  and  fortitude  and  honour.  The  illusion 
called  peace  has  tripped  from  their  tongues  and  pens.  Are  they 
eager  to  be  hackneyed  politicians? 

If  much  art  as  virile  as  Legros'  and  Brangwyn's  should  come  from 
new  men  with  the  social  aftermath  of  the  present  armed  conflict,  we 
shall  be  fortunate  indeed.  It  is  a  great  deal  to  expect,  but  those  who 
expect  little  should  receive  no  more  than  the  widow's  mite. 

74 


Turning  now  from  the  elements  of  strife  in  our  parallelism,  and  from 
the  reflection  that  these  elements  invite  and  merit,  let  us  glance  at  a 
few  other  things  that  look  out  at  us  from  the  etchings.  Legros  and 
Brangwyn  are  equally  versatile,  and  the  world  distrusts  versatility. 
Legros  in  his  travailing  takes  us  not  only  from  paintings  in  many 
branches  to  etchings  of  many  sorts  ;  not  only  from  pen  and 
pencil    sketches  to  water-colour. 


1  i  t  h  ography, 
work,  but  also 
medals,  like  the 
the  John  Stuart 
some  finer  sculp- 
the  monument 
WelbeckAbbey. 
chapter  I  speak 
versatility.  For 
note,  it  happens 
gros  and  Brang- 
in  the  skill  with 
chestrate  their 
giving  it  a  pecu- 
naturalness  by 
sought     and 


and  gold-point 
to  some  tine 
Tennyson  and 
Mill,  and  also  to 
ture,  including 
fountains  at 
In  the  final 
of  Brangwyn's 
the  rest,  let  us 
often  that  Le- 
wyn  are  alike 
which  they  or- 
composi  tion, 
liar  look  of 
which  the 
planned  arrange- 
ously  masked. 
"Windmill  at 
A.  L.'s  "The 
or  A.  L.'s  "The 
age"  with  F. B.'s 

etching   of   the     EUgg^E^^U^-.-v'.^n^II^    ^^"/^'"^  '^''^T' 
The    very    hrst  etchmgs       that 

Brangwyn  as  a  boy  noticed  and  loved  were  by  Legros,  and  he 
remembers  gratefully  that  he,  when  only  about  sixteen,  was  drawn 
towards  "  La  Mort  du  Vagabond,"  and  "  Men  Felling  Trees,"  and 
some  other  aspects  of  peasant  life  and  needy  wayfaring. 
Legros  is  charming  always — delicate  and  meditative — in  his  gentler 
etchings,  such  as  "After  the  Day's  Work "  (No.  559),  a  farm 
scene  full  of  repose.  He  is  not  easy  in  architecture;  his  etching- 
point  grows  heavy  and  yet  hesitating;  and  never  that  I  remember 

75 


ment  is  van- 
Compare  F.  B.'s 
Dixmude"  with 

Abbey    Farm,"    ^„ .„  , .„„„^ , 

Burning      ViU-     [KMLMfS^MllLl' 


does  he  rise,  as  Brangwyn  has  risen  often,  into  the  soaring  flight  of 
Gothic  cathedrals,  which  are  always  airy  music  in  stone,  and  magnifi- 
cent symbols  of  the  Ascension  that  Christianity  teaches  and  pleads 
for  incessantly.  Classic  architecture,  Greek  and  Roman,  has  a 
might  that  weighs  downwards  with  majestic  power,  as  if  eager  to 
be  earthbound  like  the  frolic  gods  on  Olympus.  Later  we  shall 
study  Brangwyn's  acute  judgment  as  an  etcher  of  architecture. 
Note  also  his  use  of  upright  lines  and  diagonal  lines;  and  his  eager 
fondness — excessive  now  and  then — for  deep  rich  plots  of  dark  tint 
and  shadow.  He  finds  music  in  strong  contrasts  between  light  and 
shade,  and  believes,  as  Tintoret  teaches,  that  black  and  white,  nobly 
orchestrated,  are  among  the  most  beautiful  of  colours.*  On  the 
other  hand,  Legros'  work  in  its  later  and  latest  moods  grows  towards 
a  grayish  ink  as  if  the  artist  wished  to  get  as  near  as  he  could  in 
etching  to  the  delicate  colour  of  gold-point  drawings;  just  as 
Turner's  oil-painting  passed  from  deep  tones  towards  the  brilliance 
and  translucency  of  water-colour.  Legros,  again,  like  Rembrandt,  is 
very  fond  of  intricate  hatching  and  cross-hatching  and  the  effects  that 
he  obtains  with  them  are  diversified  and  charming.  Pretty  often  he 
seems  to  catch  the  moving  air  in  a  most  delicate  webbing  of  nerv- 
ously vital  lines,  lines  that  pulsate ;  and  sometimes,  as  in  the  tired 
farm-horse  that  enjoys  a  good  feed  "After  the  Day's  Work,"  a 
witchery  of  interlaced  and  vibrant  lines  gives  a  very  peculiar  repose 
and  tremulous  atmosphere.  In  Legros,  again,  we  are  often  drawn 
towards  long  plates,  while  in  Brangwyn  we  feel  very  often  that  a 
square  plate,  or  plate  that  approaches  a  squarish  form,  is  the  best  of 
all  shapes  for  an  etcher  to  work  within.  Thus  the  very  touching 
and  original  etching  of  The  Nativity,  with  its  tender  rustic  awe  and 
its  primitive  old  spiral  staircase,  is  composed  on  a  zinc  plate  measur- 
ing 28I  in.  by  2i|  in.  and  The  Crucifixion  is  nearly  square,  30!  in. 
by  29-2"  in.  Every  contrast  between  artists  has  great  interest  to 
students  of  individuality. 

One  point  more.  Fran9ois  Millet's  work  was  an  early  influence  for 
good  in  the  lives  of  these  fine  etchers.  It  was  in  1 86 1 ,  the  fourth  year 
of  a  very  bitter  struggle,  that  Legros  was  cheered  by  Millet — but  at 
second-hand.      One  day,  when   he   called  on   his   printer  in  Paris, 

•  As  a  rule — there  are  just  a  tew  exceptions — Brangwyn's  etchings  have  but  two 
states  :  a  Trial  Proof  and  the  Published  and  Signed  Proof:  and  I  note  that  the  changes 
made  between  these  states  are  usually  towards  greater  depths  of  tone  and  a  more 
sonorous  orchestration  of  sunlight  and  shadow. 

76 


eager  to  see  proofs  of  some  new  etchings,  he  was  taken  to  task  hy 
the  printer's  wife,  a  good,  shrewd  housewife  with  a  nipping  and  an 
eager  tongue,  who  found  neither  merit  nor  money  in  the  subjects 
and  methods  chosen  by  young  Legros.  "And,  monsieur,"  she  added, 
"  I  am  not  certain  that  anyone  in  Paris  likes  your  etchings — except 
Millet,  Jean  Francois  Millet."  "What!  Does  Millet  like  them?" 
the  young  artist  cried.  "Then,  Madame,  I  am  more  than  satisfied, 
believe  me."  And  the  good  woman  did  believe  him,  so  tart  did  she 
look  as  she  put  on  an  air  of  reproachful  re&ignation. 


17 


CHAPTER    IV        HIS    EARLIEST    ETCHINGS 

't  is  always  useful  to  note  how 
artists,  and  particularly  painters, 
make  their  first  efforts  with  an 
I  etching-point.  Ruysdael,  in  the 
1  earliest  of  his  twelve  etchings,* 
done  when  he  was  about  seventeen  (1646),  got  a  touch  and  a  vision 
that  Corot  and  Chintreuil  must  have  liked,  for  it  is  about  mid\vay 
between  their  moods.  But  Ruysdael  passed  on  at  once  to  a  different 
style  and  a  tussle  against  oak  trees.  Turner,  governed  by  his  inborn 
stinginess,  fixed  in  a  wooden  handle  the  prong  of  an  old  fork,  and 
then  told  himself  that  work  with  it  must  not  be  more  troublesome 
than  drawing  on  paper  with  pencil.  But  Turner  with  a  broomstick 
would  have  drawn  masterpieces  on  a  quicksand  if  there  had  been 
nothing  else  for  him  to  employ.  Other  men  are  abashed  when  they 
tackle  for  the  first  time  the  art  of  etching,  knowing  that  they  will 
hate  a  tiresome  loss  of  ease  and  freedom  during  their  transition  from 
pencil  and  brush  to  etching-needle  and  metal  plate. 
Is  it  better  for  them  to  make  a  start  on  original  work  than  to  copy 
for  a  while  from  old  prints.''  Brangwyn  preferred  to  do  original 
work,  while  another  sailor  of  original  genius,  Meryon,  eased  his 
difficulties  by  copying.  His  first  attempt,  made  under  advice  from 
Eugene  Blery,  was  a  Head  of  Christ  after  a  miniature  done  by  Elise 
Bruyere,  from  a  painting  by  Philippe  de  Champaigne;  and  in  other 
copies  he  analysed  the  etched  line  of  some  old  craftsmen,  among 
whom  were  Zeeman  and  Karel  Dujardin.  Meryon  set  great  store 
by  Zeeman,  whose  "  Veues  de  Paris  et  ses  Environs"  were  published 
at  Amsterdam  about  1650.  He  either  copied  or  translated  from 
other  men  too,  and  acquired  a  touch  with  his  needle  even  defter  and 
quicker  than  that  of  Jules  Jacquemart,  who  worked  at  the  Louvre 
for  the  French  Government,  etching  many  trinkets  there,  while  poor 
Meryon  fought  alone  through  privation  until  his  mind  gave  way 
and  he  entered  Charenton. 

Brangwyn's  apprenticeship  in  etching — his  second  apprenticeship,  as 
he  did  some  etched  work  during  the  eighteen-eighties — had  nothing 
at  all  of  a  piece  with  Meryon's.  It  began  in  1900  and  went  on 
intermittently   for   three  years.      Nineteen  etchings   belong   to   this 

*  "  Le  Ruisseau  Traversant  Le  Village."  Largeur,  lo  pouces  3  lignes ;  hauteur,  6 
pouces  8  lignes.     Vienna  et  Amsterdam.     Duplessis  8. 

78 


period  in  the  catalogue  of  two  hundred  chosen  proofs  pubHshed  by 
the  Fine  Art  Society,  London,  in  191  2,  and  they  are  worth  careful 
examination.  Let  me  note,  first  of  all,  which  problems  were  attacked, 
always  at  pointblank  range,  but  not  always  with  equal  tenacity : 

1 .  The  use  of  small  plates  both  for  landscape  and  for  portrait  heads. 
Examples:  ''The  Head  of  a  Blind  Beggar"  (No.  3)  is  done  on  a 
plate  4  inches  by  4§  inches,  and  "An  Old  Tree  at  Hammersmith" 
(No.  14)  on  a  plate  four  by  five.  This  landscape  was  etched  from 
Nature, 

2.  Testing  different  metals,  copper  and  zinc,  and  choosing  zinc 
as  the  more  obedient  to  his  temperamental  bias.  In  the  nineteen 
subjects  only  two  are  on  copper.  Meryon  tried  tin — a  softer  metal 
than  zinc — at  least  for  several 
etchings.*  In  two  hundred  chosen 
etchings  by  F.  B.  I  find  fifty- 
eight  on  copper;  and  I  find,  too, 
that  in  four  years — 1909  to  1912 
inclusive — copper  was  used  nine 
times,  for  the  doing  of  sixty-two 
etchings,  while  in  1907  it  was 
accepted  fourteen  times  in  the 
choice  of  twenty-nine  plates,  and 
in  1906 — the  most  friendly  year 
to  copper — fifteen  times  in  twenty- 
seven  etchings. 

3.  During  the  three  apprentice 
years  (1900- 1903)  Brangwyn  ex- 
perimented with  aquatint  and 
aquatint  graining,  as  well  as  with 
original  printing  methods,  as  if 
eager  to  know  how  many 
painterly  virtues  he  could  get 
from  metals. 

*  Meryon's  use  of  tin :  Copied  Portrait  of 
Pierre  Nivelle  ( 1 584- 1660);  and  Portrait 
of  T.  Agrippa  d'Aubigne,  from  a  litho- 
graph by  Hibert.  Also  the  portrait  of 
Armand  Gueraud,  the  printer,  from  a 
photograph.  Burty  says  :  "  It  was  en- 
graved with  the  burin  on  a  soft  metal,  tin, 
which  gave  off  only  a  few  proofs." 

79 


4-  In  the  use  of  large  plates  he  made  several  big  adventures.  "The 
Tanyard,  Brentford,"  for  instance,  an  etching  done  from  Nature, 
w^ith  its  busy  men,  all  typical  and  boldly  sketched,  and  its  timber 
sheds  which  have  the  uneven  and  forlorn  look  of  weatherbeaten 
wood,  comes  from  a  zinc  plate  15I"  by  laf;  and  the  second  version 
of  London  Bridge,  to  which  we  shall  return  in  a  later  chapter,  is 
a  copper-plate  etching  that  measures  2 in'  by  161". 
As  I  wish  to  set  down  as  clearly  as  I  can  what  my  research  has  given 
to  me,  let  me  ask  readers  to  remember  that  an  interpreted'  of  art 
cannot  suppress  what  he  does  not  like,  but  that  preferences  are  offered 
— and  should  ever  be  offered — not  as  verdicts,  but  only  as  things  to 
be  turned  over  by  thought  and  talk.  Let  us  choose,  then,  a  few 
small  plates  from  the  apprentice  period : 

(a).   Head  of  a  Jew,  on  zinc,  4'  by  5',  1900  (No.  2   in  the  official 

Catalogue  of  191  2). 

(b).   Head  of  a  Blind  Beggar  (No.  3),  on  zinc,  4'  by  4!',  1900. 

(c).    Head  of  a  Suffolk  Fisherman  (No.  12),  on  zinc,  4'  by  5',  1903. 

(d).   Head  of  an  Old  Man  (No.  13),  on  zinc,  5'  by  4',  1903. 

(e).    An  Old  Tree  at  Hammersmith  (No.  14),  on  zinc,  4'  by  5',  1903. 

The  Jew  is  about  three-quarters  face,  looking  towards  our  right ;  he 
wears  a  tall  and  soft  cap,  and  heavy  shadows  fall  across  him.  Impatient 
handling  is  evident,  strong  lines  running — in  a  sweep  that  curves 
from  right  to  left — over  the  face  and  coat.  It  seems  clear  to  me 
that  the  etcher  is  cramped,  like  a  tall  good  cricketer  with  a  child's  bat. 
Would  this  hindrance  have  been  so  irksome,  I  wonder,  if  our  artist 
had  taken  his  first  lesson  in  a  portrait  etching  not  from  Nature,  from 
the  life,  but  as  a  translator  from  Vandyke.?  Here  is  a  useful  specu- 
lation for  young  etchers  to  apply  to  their  own  cases.  A  student 
copying  from  Vandyke's  etched  portraiture  would  keep  the  whole 
art  before  his  mind,  and  his  whole  attention  would  be  fixed  on  that 
consummating  ease  with  which  every  line  performs  its  office  with- 
out becoming  either  too  dark  or  too  light,  and  always  in  scale  with 
both  head  and  plate.  It  is  a  joy  to  watch  the  skill  with  which 
Vandyke  places  a  fine  kitcat  portrait  on  a  small  plate,  the  head 
always  in  the  most  fitting  spot  and  never  too  big  for  the  surface 
upon  which  it  is  drawn,  as  Cranach's  heads  are  invariably,  like  those 
by  Stauffer-Bern,  to  take  only  two  examples.  And  Vandyke's  poses 
reveal  his  sitters'  characters,  wittily  and  charmfully.  To  vie  as  a 
translator   against  this  master-mind    in   etched   portraiture,  leaving 

80 


S  T.      L  K  I)  X  A  R  n    s      A  l:  1;  K  V,      N  K  A  k      1  <  >  I,   K  s. 
AFTKR   A   KF.CENT   F.TCHING   NOT  VI-.T  CATALOCt'l  P. 


original  work  until  the  hand  has  gained  ease 
with  new  tools  and  on  small  plates,  could  not 
be  to  any  man  a  derogatory  exercise,  "  a  long 
farewell  to  all  one's  greatness."  But  original 
workers  are  naturally  opposed  to  all  copying, 
as  a  rule.  Why  should  they  wish  to  borrow 
classic  bats  when  they  are  either  accustomed 
or  eager  to  make  good  scores  off  their  own  ? 
Here  and  there  a  modernist  has  copied,  like 
Degas  and  Van  Gogh,  but  the  usual  method 
nowadays  is  to  confront  nature  at  once  and  in 
a  questioning  spirit  free  from  servile  and  soul- 
less imitation.  Still,  an  amalgam  of  methods 
old  and  new  is  often  invaluable  during  an 
original  man's  apprenticeship.  As  Shakespeare 
did  not  hesitate  to  borrow  the  outlines  of  useful 
plots,  why  should  a  modernist  in  art  hesitate  to  copy  now  and  then 
from  an  earlier  master  ?  : 

The  "  Blind  Beggar"  may  be  an  old  salt ;  he  looks  weather-blown 
and  tough  and  taut.  It  seems  to  me  that  his  portrait  is  placed  not 
at  all  well  on  the  plate.  There's  a  wide  gap  of  background  on  our 
right,  behind  and  above  his  left  shoulder,  and  it  is  scrambled  with 
irritation,  horizontal  lines  making  so  much  ado  that  they  draw  one's 
eyes  away  from  the  modelling  of  the  face,  a  modelling  somewhat  like 
that  of  a  woodcut.  Neither  of  these  heads,  viewed  as  abecedarian 
work,  is  to  my  mind  good  enough  for  Brangwyn.  There's  much 
improvement — the  improvement,  indeed,  is  great — when  we  see  the 
humorous  old  "Suffolk  Fisherman,"  and  also  No.  13,  a  thoughtful 
well-built  "Head  of  an  Old  Man";  but  yet  the  handicraft  sets  me 
thinking  somehow  of  woodcuts,  and  both  heads  are  so  big  that  they 
are  out  of  scale  with  the  small  zinc  plates.  I  seem  to  be  looking  at 
each  model  through  a  square  hole  rather  than  through  a  window. 
And  the  "Old  Tree  at  Hammersmith,"  with  its  bluff  impression  of 
bad  weather  and  of  material  bulk,  has  almost  the  same  disproportion 
between  scale  of  setting  and  technique  and  the  plate's  twenty  square 
inches. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Brangwyn  has  not  annoyed  his  foes  often 
enough  by  proving  that  he  can  beat  at  their  own  exercise  the 
delicate  sprinters  and  plodders  over  small  plates.  That  Brangwyn 
should  be  a  master  of  small  work  as  of  big,  is  proved  by  a  water- 

M  81 


colour  sketch,  dated  1884,  and  treasured  by  Selwyn  Image.  It  is  a 
tiny  marine,  apt,  fresh,  sincere,  with  a  boat  on  the  sands  and  a  touch 
of  sea  beyond.  It  proves  that  Brangwyn  at  seventeen  could  work  at 
ease  on  a  very  small  surface ;  just  as  Rembrandt's  bust  portrait  of 
his  mother,  a  tiny  thing,  shows  a  master  at  home,  entirely  free,  and 
as  tenderly  proud  and  happy  as  the  dear  old  lady,  who  loves  to  be 
etched  by  her  great  son.  If  this  wee  portrait  were  enlarged  to  life- 
size  by  magic  lantern,  as  Legros  wished  to  enlarge  Vandyke's  etched 
portraits  as  a  lesson  for  all  artists,  we  should  find  that  the  gracious 
and  minute  fondling  touch  had  in  it  a  breadth  and  scale  that  magnifi- 
cation could  not  lose. 

Nothing  is  more  wonderful  than  the  modesty  with  which  the  Old 
Masters  turned  from  vast  to  small  surfaces.  Even  the  giant  Michel- 
angelo, who  worked  for  eight  years  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  on  a  mural 
painting  forty-seven  feet  high  and  forty-three  wide,  and  who  at  sixty 
attacked  marble  with  such  fury  that  he  made  more  chips  fly  about 
in  fifteen  minutes  than  three  young  sculptors  would  have  made  in  an 
hour,* — even  this  Hercules  of  genius  delighted  to  caress  and  cherish 
trifles  when  trifles  were  necessary ;  and  here  he  resembled  Leonardo, 
and  Mantegna,  and  Rubens.  When  Mantegna  took  up  engraving 
he  was  about  sixty,  and  yet,  as  Delaborde  says  very  well,  though 
his  work  shows  "  I'inquietude  d'une  main  irrite  par  sa  lutte  avec  le 
moyen,"  his  principal  mark  is  "un  melange  singulier  d'ardeur  et 
de  patience,  de  sentiment  spontane  et  d'intentions  systematiques." 
What  Brangwyn's  smallest  etchings  need  now  and  then  is  this  addi- 
tion of  patience  to  his  ardour,  and  of  purposeful  method  to  his 
instantaneous  sentiment. 

But  as  soon  as  we  turn  to  the  larger  F.  B.  etchings  of  this  first  period 
— the  well-known  "Assisi,"  for  example,  or  the  second  version  of 
London  Bridge — we  watch  how  a  long-distance  manner,  with  a 
stumble  here  and  a  mishap  there,  settles  down  into  its  own  stride,  and 
becomes  more  and  more  adventurous  and  confident.  "  Barkstrippers 
at  Port  Mellan,  Cornwall"  (No.  8,  16'  by  13"),  is  a  good  industrial 
group,  well  observed  and  easy,  though  its  effect  is  rather  weak  in 
qualities  of  air  and  somewhat  like  a  woodcut ;  and  some  very  diffi- 
cult problems  are  partly  overcome  in   a  bold  plate  etched  out  of 

•  According  to  Blaise  de  Vigenere,  an  eye-witness,  who  adds  :  "  It  would  seem  as  if, 
inflamed  by  the  idea  of  greatness  which  inspired  him,  this  great  man  attacked  with  a 
species  of  fury  the  marble  which  concealed  the  statue.  ...  I  feared  almost  every 
moment  to  see  the  block  split  into  pieces." 

82 


l^lNQHin^ 


doors,  "Trees  and  Factories 
at  Hammersmith  "  (No. 
II,  1 6"  by  13").  I  like  the 
first  state,  a  sketch  in  out- 
line, even  better  than  the 
published  state  in  very  em- 
phatic light  and  shade,  the 
factories  in  sunlight  con- 
trasting overmuch  (to  my 
mind)  with  the  foreground 
trees  and  land.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  trees  fail  to 
grip  the  earth  firmly  ;  their 
charm  is  the  branching 
foliage. 

"A  Gate  at  Assisi "  (No. 
16,  17"  by  13"),  with  its 
procession  in  the  wind  and 
rain,  its  pleasant  glimpse 
of  distant  country,  and  the 
trees,  tall  and  dark,  is  a 
spirited  venture ;  and  there 
is  alert  observation  with 
true  feeling  in  another  Assisi  plate,  an  aquatint  on  zinc,  in  which  a 
beggar  comes  forth  from  under  a  shadowed  archway  through  which 
a  patch  of  town  can  be  seen  in  sun  and  shade.  This  aquatint 
measures  8^"  by  10";  it  is  clearly  seen  in  the  right  scale,  and  the 
beggar's  face  has  a  questioning  sorrow  that  fears  to-morrow  much 
more  than  to-day  and  yesterday. 

There  are  two  etchings  of  old  trees  at  Hammersmith,  the  one  we 
have  considered  (No.  14,  4"  by  5"),  and  No.  19,  1 2'  by  15";  and 
the  bigger  one  is  by  far  the  more  impressive.  Several  other  subjects 
from  this  novitiate  period  belong  to  later  chapters,  and  they  happen 
to  be  etchings  which  prevent  this  period  from  seeming  as  a  whole 
perhaps  a  little  too  much  occupied  with  the  end  of  a  perilous  art 
before  its  beginning  has  been  mastered  by  unflinching  research  and 
persevering  labour.  The  early  versions  of  London  Bridge  are 
attacked  with  patient  industry  and  zest  (though  not,  perhaps,  with 
quite  enough  affection  for  pointwork  pure  and  simple),  and  a  "Road 
in  Picardy,"   as  we  shall   see   anon,  tackles  with  vigorous  care  and 

83 


RASECNA^nALlAMA        Dl 
ETTOEE  CQZZANrSPEZr 


much^success  the  same  problems  that  Hobbema  masters  with  simple 
and  serene  nobleness  in  a  spacious  epitome  of  Holland's  landscape, 
"The  Avenue  at  Middelharnis,"  a  picture  as  full  of  airy  sky  and 
cloud  as  it  is  of  cosy  earth  that  nestles  into  the  Dutchman's  heart 
and  history.  Every  imagination  can  roam  through  this  Hobbema 
with'-a  freedom  like  that  of  a  swallow  over  flat  Dutch  homelands. 


H 


CH'APTER    V      ETCHINGS:    SIMPLE    LANDSCAPES 
AND     WAYFARING     SKETCHES 


t    is    convenient    to    divide 
chapter  into  halves: 


this 


1 .    Landscape  pure  and  simple, 
free   sometimes,  and   sometimes 

not  quite  free,  from  the  great  human  drama  ; 

2.   Wayside  jottings,  travel  sketches,  and  matured  impressions. 

What  are  we  likely  not  to  find  in  these  divisions?  Every  artist, 
wittingly  or  unwittingly,  omits  many  things  from  his  executive 
aims  and  focuses  all  his  itsthetic  zeal  around  certain  preterences,  as 
Corot — in  his  etched  croqiiis  as  in  his  paintings^forgets  Nature's 
tremendous  weight  and  tragedy  in  his  reverence  for  the  soft  winsome- 
ness  of  her  perfumed  hours,  or  as  Rowlandson  turned  from  the 
sweetness  of  Wheatley  and  endows  art  with  brawn  :  weight,  muscle, 
sweat,  and  lusty  caricature.  For  this  reason,  before  proceeding 
any  farther,  let  me  try  to  state  what  I  take  to  be  the  bounds 
within  which  Brangwyn  has  gathered  his  simpler  motifs  out  of 
doors. 

First  of  all,  then,  Brangwyn  is  rarely  a  forester  in  his  etched  work, 
a  detailing  master  of  trees,  an  inquisitive  student  ot  that  elemental 
architecture  which  is  plainly  suggested  by  their  branching  abundance 
and  the  individuality  of  their  columnar  growth.  He  loves  trees 
greatly,  of  course;  their  decorative  appeal  puts  a  spell  upon  his  imagi- 
nation; and  (as  a  rule)  he  subordinates  all  else  in  their  growth,  texture 
and  character  to  the  depth  of  tone  in  ornamental  plots  and  patterns 
that  they  enable  him  to  use  as  elements  of  design.  Only  once,  I  believe 
— "The  Olive  Trees  of  Avignon,"  a  studious  etching,  free  and  great- 
hearted— has  he  studied  any  tree  as  Ruysdael  studied  oaks;  not  yet 
has  he  caught  in  spring  the  airy  lightness  of  thickets  and  coppice 
borders;  and  he  has  not  yet  looked  at  noble  holts  and  spinneys  from 
within  an  atmospheric  inspiration  like  that  which  Claude  reveals  in 
two  or  three  etchings,  and  to  perfection  in  "  The  Drover."  But 
landscape  art  would  be  a  dull  thing  if  its  devotees  were  arboreal  all 
with  one  mind  and  purpose.  To  see  woods  and  trees  as  Brangwyn 
sees  them,  as  elements  of  design,  is  to  be  fascinated  by  wonderful 
varied   shapes  and   beauties,    ranging  from  the  austere   darkness  of 

85 


venerable  yews  to  the  most  exquisite  diapers  that  silver  birches 
make  w^ith  their  lady  grace  and  overbred  languor.  ic«ro/. 

An  artist  must  be  moved  before  he  can  move  anyone  else.  Brangwyn 
is  greatly  moved  by  the  wind,  and  he  is  able  to  suggest  as  an  etcher 
even  that  remnant  oi  wind  that  loiters  between  gusts  among  leaves 
and  boughs,  causing  there  so  many  contrary  agitations  that  trees 
appear  to  stand  erect  and  still  while  their  foliage  is  all  astir  with 


movements  that 
another.  He  is 
rain,  and  uses  it 
as  a  subordinate 
decorative  pur- 
remember  any 
which  he  has 
dominant  motif 
comforts,  the 
ies  of  a  wet  day, 
from  foul  wea- 
has  wished  to 
second  state  or 
in  Picardy." 
Another  impres- 
true  to  me :  that 
wyn  is  impas- 
great  space,  he 
etcher  to  deepen 
illusion  of  at- 
tance  and  magic, 
birds  appear  in 
skies?  If  so,  I 
it ;  and  let  me 
memory  how 
the  help  that 
birds 


counteract  one 
moved  also  ,  by 
boldlv  and  well 
agent  for  his 
poses.  I  cannot 
etching  in 
taken  for  his 
the  moist  dis- 
dripping  miser- 
but  he  has  got 
ther  all  that  he 
get,  as  in  the 
stage  ot  "A  Road 


sion  is  equally 
although  Brang- 
sioned  towards 
rarely  tries  as-an 
and  extend  the 
mospheric  dis- 
Does  a  flight  of 
anyof  his  etched 
don't  remember 
recall  to  your 
invaluable  ,is 
an   occasional    use   of 


etchers  have  obtained  from  an  occasional  use 
Take  Paul  Potter's  etching  "La  Mazette,"  in  which  a  worn- 
out  old  farm-horse  gazes  half-afraid  at  the  body  of  a  dead  mare.  Two 
crows  in  the  sky  are  placed  well  at  the  right  distance.  Or  take 
Claude's  "  Drover "  once  again,  and  note  how  a  few  birds  in  the 
serene  sky,  well  distributed,  add  limpidity  and  varied  depth  to  the 
fresh  sweet  air  and  space  around  and  beyond  the  riverside  trees. 
Yes,  but  we  must  turn  to  Meryon  if  we  wish  to  see  a  really  great 
86 


passion  for  birds  and  their  flight.  Examples  :  "The  Stryge,"  "Under 
an  Arch  of  Notre-Dame  Bridge,"  "Le  Pont  Neuf,"  "The  Gallery 
of  Notre-Dame,"  "Le  Pont-au-Change,"  where  there  is  also  a  balloon 
suspended  among  some  birds,  and  "The  Ministry  of  Marine,"  where 
a  good  sky  is  brisk,  not  with  birds  alone,  but  also  with  other  flying 
wonders — even  sharks,  horse  marines,  and  a  few  other  foes  of  the 
French  Admiralty,  which  fly  as  buoyantly  as  do  cumulus  clouds.  A 
desire  to  enhance  every  illusion  of  atmospheric  space  was  as  per- 
emptory to  Meryon  as  a  passion  for  decoration  is  to  Brangwyn. 
Remember  always  that  Nature  is  as  diverse  as  art,  which  is  ever 
as  diverse  as  good  artists  become. 

Have  YOU  noticed  how  Brangwyn  is  affected  by  clouds  ?  Here  and 
there  he  reminds  me  of  Peter  Dewint's  great  water-colours,  where 
clouds  are  often  neglected  because  Dewint  is  in  love  with  Mother 
Earth  ;  but  Brangwyn's  most  native  temper  towards  clouds  resembles 
a  dramatist's  feeling  for  a  scene  to  be  done  and  a  climax  to  be  built  up. 
A  gentle  and  pellucid  sky  is  as  touching  as  the  soft  clasp  of  a  baby's 
hand  ;  but  the  sky's  British  routine  is  a  variable  drama,  and  Brang- 
wyn prefers  its  most  noteworthy  effects.  Once  or  twice,  as  in  the 
tall  and  noble  etching  of  "The  Monument,  London"  (No.  200, 
1 91 2,  17!^"  by  28"  ),*  there's  barely  room  enough  perhaps  for  the  cloud 
pageant.  Most  etchers  are  as  timid  towards  clouds  as  the  devil 
is  said  to  be  towards  holy  water.  Modern  exceptions— Maxime 
Lalanne,  for  example — are  all  most  welcome,  though  their  appeal  in 
skyscapes  has  seldom  a  vast  range.  From  Brangwyn  at  his  best  we 
receive  immense  moments  of  the  sky ;  and  I  wish  he  would  prove  in 
an  Italian  landscape  by  the  sea,  with  shipping  and  classical  architec- 
ture, that  the  routine  praise  bestowed  on  Claude's  etched  Sunrise, 
has  been  more  useful  to  print-sellers  than  to  etchers. 


II 

And  now  we  have  to  study  a  few  landscapes  in  our  first  division, 
landscapes  pure  and  simple,  in  which  nothing  vile  is  introduced 
by  men. 

I.  A  Road  at  Longpre  in  Picardy,  No.  10,  on  zinc,  14I"  by  12", 
dating  from  1903. 

*  This  print  has  two  states,  ene  with  sunlight  flashing  out  from  behind  clouds,  and  one 
with  cumulus  effects. 

87 


Here  is  an  avenue  of  those  aspiring  trees,  mop-like  and  very  tall, 
that  French  and  Dutch  economy  cultivates;  trees  that  meet  every 
w^ind  with  politely  elastic  bows  and  bends,  nodding  their  plumes 
like  those  great  ladies  in  wonderful  headgear  at  whom  Addison 
poked  his  mellow  ridicule.  It  is  an  etching  in  two  states  or  stages. 
All  Brangwynians  know  the  first  state,  its  clouds  piled  in  with  a 
few  happy  touches,  its  foreground  boldly  ordered  with  massed  light 
and  shade,  and  the  trees  delicately  studied  with  energetic  pointwork. 
At  first  I  could  not  make  out  why  such  a  fine  avenue,  with  abundant 
space  all  around  it,  made  me  feel  that  it  grew  out  of  a  flat  world 
and  that  I  should  come  to  the  world's  brink  if  I  went  down  the 
road  and  climbed  those  mild  hills.  This  hilly  horizon  is  low  enough 
to  be  too  low,  the  land  occupying  even  less  than  a  fourth  part  of 
the  etching's  height,  so  there's  appreciably  more  than  three  parts 
of  sky.  Paul  Potter  used  this  Jicelle  in  his  etched  Bull,  and  in 
several  other  prints,  naive  and  wisely  handled,  which  merit  much 
more  praise  than  they  receive.  No  doubt  it  is  a  dodge  that  adds 
greatly  to  the  scale  of  things.  Potter's  animals  appear  too  big  to 
find  grass  enough  in  their  neighbourhood;  and  though  Brangwyn's 
avenue  soars  grandly  into  a  void  full  of  air  and  hinted  cloud,  my  own 
liking  for  very  low  horizons  remains  imperfect. 

A  few  technical  details.  Every  tree  and  its  foliage  are  lightly 
massed  and  well  aired;  their  pointwork  is  cross-hatched  with  lines 
that  curve  and  disappear,  except  in  a  place  or  so,  where  no  crossed 
lines  add  substance  and  tone.  On  the  tree-trunks,  and  the  road's  sunny 
part,  as  well  as  on  a  field,  texture  is  suggested  by  a  spray  of  dots — an 
effective  scattered  grain ;  and  it  reminds  me  that  Vandyke  in  several 
etched  portraits — the  beautiful  one  of  himself,  for  instance,  and  the 
Justus  Sustermans,  and  the  Josse  de  Momper — employs  sparingly 
in  flesh  technique  a  fine  dust  of  graining  dots.  For  landscape  tex- 
ture in  large  etchings,  even  foul  biting  is  often  useful,  and  Brangwyn 
has  employed  it  in  several  plates.  Heavy  shadows  run  in  a  billow 
across  the  foreground ;  they  are  made  with  deep  horizontal  lines 
that  flow  curvingly;  and  their  mass  of  dark  tone  gives  body  and 
solidity  to  the  foreground. 

Only  two  proofs  were  printed  of  this  Picardy  Avenue  in  its  second 
state,  which  gives  a  deep  and  powerful  impression  of  a  thorough 
rainstorm.  Under  gathered  clouds  the  whole  landscape  has  darkened, 
and  Brangwyn  is  at  home  in  a  mood  that  he  likes  better  than  the 
linear  peace  of  his  earlier  version. 

88 


P  5 

^¥ 
5  o 

2  " 
>• 


■J  -. 
S5   S 

ca  P. 


2.  Trees  in  Snow  at  Mortlake,  on  copper,  No.  24,  32-"  by  4I",  dating 
from  1 904.     Etched  out  of  doors. 

As  a  fact,  the  trees  are  not  in  snow,  for  a  gale  has  freed  them  from 
their  white  burden;  they  stand  out  as  a  dark  plot  against  the  upper 
sky  and  above  a  snow-laden  road  and  bank.  An  effective  httle  winter 
scene,  done  in  a  vein  of  woodcutting,  decorative,  and  with  a  peculiar 
hush — the  hush  that  snow  enshrouds  us  with — even  in  cities  among 
modernized  traffic.  Nature  drapes  herself  with  silence  whenever 
snow  falls,  as  we  do  in  the  presence  of  that  completed  sleep  named 
Death. 

3.  A  Storm  near  Craven  Cottage,  Fulham,  No.  29,  on  zinc,  iSf 
by  18",  1904.      Etohed  on  the  spot,  then  restudied  at  home. 

We  have  seen  this  bluffs  and  boisterous  etching  (p.  71),  but  now  I 
note  two  points  more :  first,  a  telling  contrast  between  driving  rain 
and  rising  cloud ;  next,  another  low  horizon,  above  all  on  our  right- 
hand  side,  where,  at  the  plate's  edge,  not  a  fifth  part  of  the  etching's 
height  is  occupied  by  land;  and  since  the  sombre  trees  at  their 
highest  nearly  touch  the  plate's  top  edge,  as  in  the  Picardy  Avenue, 
this  low  horizon  is  noticeable,  though  ably  masked  on  our  left  by  a 
bushy  bank  in  strong  light  and  shade. 

4.  Maple  Tree,  Barnard  Castle,  No.  5^,  on  copper,  14-^-"  by  io|", 
1905.     Etched  out  of  doors. 

Beyond  this  maple  tree,  the  jolly  old  bridge  is  seen  in  its  own  plane, 
and  sky  is  felt  here  and  there  between  the  foliage.  All  else  is  land 
and  maple  tree,  simple,  broad,  Brangwynian,  though  some  leaves — 
those  which  sunlight  picks  out — are  detailed  almost  with  Ruskin's 
precision. 

5.  Cornfield  at  Montreuil-sur-Mer,  on  zinc.  No.  104,  14"  by  8f', 
1907. 

A  true  note  from  Nature,  with  a  mystery  that  is  full  of  the  harvest 
season  abroad.  A  barrier  of  mop-like  trees,  seen  in  vanishing  per- 
spective, screens  the  harvest  from  keen  winds  that  winnow,  and 
gives  acreage  to  the  cornfield. 

6.  The  River  Lot  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  on  zinc,  No.  159,  10'  by  8', 
1 910.  Etched  from  Nature,  like  two  other  studies  on  the  same 
river,  Nos.  171  and  179. 

This  most  fascinating  townlet  is  a  few  miles  west  of  Figeac;  it  is 

N  89 


built  on  a  rock  on  the  river's  left  bank.  Brangwyn  has  done  much 
fine  work  there,  and  this  broad,  delicate  sketch  of  pure  landscape, 
with  nearish  trees  and  water,  its  distant  heights,  and  its  hospitable 
French  air  and  thrift,  shows  how  refreshing  etched  croquis  can  be 
when  an  artist  is  so  occupied  with  Mother  Earth  that  he  cannot 
coquet  with  that  sweet  technique  over  which  many  writers  on  prints 
talk  profusely. 

7.  The  River  Lot  Again,  on  zinc,  No.  171,  gl'  by  8",  1910. 

Serene,  unclouded,  airy,  and  a  most  pleasing  distance  with  a  village 
on  the  height.  I  am  not  sure  that  ten  or  twelve  very  slim  young 
poplars,  beyond  the  water,  have  roots  that  grip  firmly,  but  they  have 
a  poetry  of  their  own,  seeming  to  stand  on  tiptoe  to  watch,  as  dark 
and  alert  sentinels,  over  a  day  of  thorough  tranquillity.  Most  other 
British  etchers  would  have  put  into  this  happy  sketch  an  effeminate 
mood,  like  that  which  finds  its  way  also  into  some  of  Tagore's  poetry 
on  Nature  and  on  Mother  Earth,  Nature  is  too  lusty  for  any  human 
mind  seriously  to  woo  her  with  soft  little  caressing  ways  and  moods. 
The  river  Lot  has  its  floods  and  its  valley  has  fitful  harvests ;  its  days 
of  peace  are  but  moments  in  the  eternity  of  that  grand  tussle  for 
existence  which  pits  tree  against  tree  and  grasses  against  grasses,  in 
weather  fair  and  foul;  and  so  I  like  the  bold  touch  with  which 
Brangwyn  shows  tenderness  on  a  gentle  day.  His  mood,  in  every 
one  of  his  pure  landscape  etchings,  has  nothing  like  Tagore's  Nature- 
worship  :  "  I  have  seen  your  tender  face  and  I  love  your  mournful 
dust,  Mother  Earth  ...  I  will  worship  you  with  labour  ...  I 
will  pour  my  songs  into  your  mute  heart,  and  my  love  into  your 
love."  Brangwyn  has  felt  too  many  storms  at  sea  and  too  much 
dire  havoc  in  Messina  after  the  earthquake,  ever  to  coo  over  Mother 
Earth.  His  mood  in  landscape  art  is  akin  to  the  mood  with  which 
Abraham  Lincoln  encountered  all  peremptory  needs  of  a  necessary 
civil  war  :  "  I  am  not  bound  to  win  but  I  am  bound  to  be  true.  I 
am  not  bound  to  succeed,  but  I  am  bound  to  live  up  to  the  light 
I  have."  Brangwyn  has  always  in  full  force  what  the  French  call 
"le  sentiment  des  masses,  pas  un  detail  superflu";  only  his  orchestra- 
tion of  this  fine  sentiment  seems  at  times  to  be  too  emphatic. 


90 


Ill 

From  our  second  division 
— wayside  jottings,trave] 
sketches  and  matured 
impressions —  1  choose 
some  typical  etchings. 

I.  Assisi,  on  zinc,  15I" 
by  12",  No.  17. 

This  print  was  exhibited 
in  1903,  at  the  Rowland 
Club  in  ClifFord's  Inn, 
with  the  second  version 
of  London  ^Bridge  and 
the  Picardian  Avenue. 
It  was  clear  at  once  that 
a  new  etcher  had  come 
with  a  vision  hitherto 
unknown,  and  also  with 
the  beginnings  ot  a 
technical  equipment  so 
much  bolder  than  custom 
idolised  that  it  would  be 
to  delicate  writers  on 
prints  what  a  route 
march  in  rainy  days  has 
ever  been  to  timid  and 
dainty  recruits. 

A  Frenchman  expressed  very  well  the  revolution  in  etching  foretold 
by  f  Brangwyn's  work  between  1 903  and  1906.  The  difference 
between  this  work  and  other  British  etchings,  he  said,  is  as 
marked  as  the'difFerence  between  Francois  Millet  and  Leopold  Robert ; 
the;  latter  is  full  of  good  intentions  ;  the  other  is  full  of  thorough 
rustic  life  and  character :  and  most  British  etchers  by  Brangwyn's  side, 
however  desirable  in  their  own  ways,  look  rather  small  and  out  of 
place.  These  things  happen  when  genius  competes  against  charm- 
ing talents,  for  genius  troubles  the  ease  of  a  great  many  excellent 
persons.  The  "  Assisi  "  is  more  than  enough  to  trouble  any  etcher 
who  attends  to  his  work  with  as  much  deliberation  and  ceremony  as 
a  fashionable  photographer.      A  difficult,  manifold  motif — historic 

91 


architecture  amid  brilliant  sunlight,  with  fine  trees  and  a  landscape 
nobly  orchestrated  by  intense  light  and  shade — is  treated  with  vehe- 
ment joy  as  a  bit  of  practice  in  experimental  technique  and  printing. 
Most  English  etchers,  when  they  make  love  to  such  a  motif,  seem  to 
dress  themselves  in  velvet  and  lace,  in  order  to  remember  that  "ex- 
quisiteness,"  sometimes  called  "noble  daintiness,"  is  the  quality  in  prints 
that  receives  the  largest  measure  of  routine  praise — and  pelf.  Well, 
there's  nothing  dainty  in  the  Assisi.  Every  part  of  this  etching  is  an 
adventure.  The  architecture  is  effective,  for  it  stands  out  in  lusty 
chiaroscuro  against  a  sky  toned  by  printing  ;  but  yet  it  is  only  a  distant 
forerunner  of  Brangwyn's  later  visions  as  a  lover  of  great  buildings. 
There  is  abundant  study  in  the  tree-trunks  and  their  boughs  and  foliage, 
only  in  some  impressions — I  have  one,  an  early  and  rare  impression — 
the  deep  tones  in  masses  run  together  overmuch  into  one  mass,  losing 
their  graduated  sequence  of  plane  and  purpose ;  and  shadowed  portions 
of  the  buildings  look  unaired  and  unwarmed  by  reflected  light  and 
the  sun's  vibrating  shimmer.  Other  impressions,  including  those  with 
dry-point  revision  ov^er  the  sky,  are  more  aerial ;  and  the  printing  in  all 
proofs  that  I  have  seen,  various  always,  has  been  alive  and  original. 

2.   A  Turkish  Cemetery  at  Scutari.      i8|'  by  17I",  No.  31,  1904. 

In  its  trial  state — but  only  three  impressions  were  printed — this  fine 
sketch  is  in  outline.  Then  the  plate  was  rehandled  and  rebitten, 
and  one  may  expect  to  see  few  better  records  of  an  artist's  travels, 
so  ably  are  the  figures  distributed  in  their  proper  planes ;  and  a  true 
sentiment  puts  mystery  among  the  cypress  trees  and  around  and  in 
the  cemetery.  I  call  it  a  sketch  because  it  is  pictorial  in  a  way 
that  suits  a  fortunate  sketch,  with  those  happy  accidents  that  come 
to  cesthetic  emotion,  and  with  that  lack  of  "finish"  that  has  the 
value  of  a  genuine  impromptu.  Other  ardent  impressions  in  a 
kindred  mood  are  two  important  Turks  dallying  with  postponed 
business  amid  the  hot  shade  under  pleasant  trees  (No.  137,  i6£"  by 
I2f",  1908),  and  the  Normanesque  "Castello  della  Ziza  at  Palermo" 
(No.  30,  19"  by  i8",  1904),  most  valuable  as  architecture,  and  as  a 
Brangwyn  study,  always  free  from  those  qualities  that  photographs 
give  with  detailed  uniformity.  A  blend  of  Moorish  elegance  with  the 
usual  blunt  massiveness  of  Norman  building  is  well  suggested;  a  tew 
shades  are  overstressed  in  some  impressions;  between  the  shadowed 
foreground,  with  its  musicians,  and  the  castle,  a  Sicilian  festival  is 
busy,  a  few  lines  and  plots  of  tone  suggesting  a  rustic  dance  that  whirls. 

92 


3-  A  Road  at  Montreuil-sur-Mer,  No.  34,  on  zinc,  131^,,"  hy  101V7 
1904.  Etched  on  the  spot  from  Nature,  like  "Mill  Wheels,  Mon- 
treuil"  (No.  35). 

I  choose  this  proof  at  random  from  etched  croquis  and  other  good 
work  that  Brangwyn  has  done  at  Montreuil,  often  out  of  doors,  as 
in  1904  and  1907.  It  is  a  jolly  sketch,  despite  the  low  horizon, 
and  we  follow  its  road  into  the  happy  moods  that  Brangwyn  has 
had  at  this  most  pleasant  hillside  townlet,  now  nearly  ten  miles  from 
the  sea.  "The  Mill  Bridge  at  Montreuil"  (No.  33)  is  one  sketch 
to  be  noted,  and  "The  Gate  of  a  Farm"  (No.  90),  an  outdoor  study, 
is  another;  but  not  quite  so  good  in  tone  and  charm  as  "A  Hay- 
wain"  (No.  97),  or  the  deeply  considered  "Paper  Mill"  (No.  93), 
etched  on  the  spot,  to  which  we  shall  return  in  the  chapter  on 
Industry  and  Labour. 

4.  The  Butcher's  Shop,  Wormwood  Scrubbs,  No.  46,  on  zinc,  195" 
by  184",  1904. 

Here  is  the  most  impressive  etching  in  Brangwyn's  greater  land- 
scapes, and  only  in  Meryon  do  we  find  work  so  matter-of-fact  and 
yet  so  eerie  and  haunting.  In  19 10  I  tried  to  put  into  words  the 
impression  made  by  those  two  vast  old  trees  and  their  uncanny  light- 
ing, by  the  butcher  who  waits  for  we  know  not  what,  while  curious 
figures  behind  peer  out  from  a  mysterious  timber  cabin.  I  wonder 
how  Meryon  would  have  been  moved  by  this  exceptional  work ; 
and  also  if  he  would  have  felt  a  somewhat  akin  to  himself  in  two  or 
three  other  Brangwyns :  Houses  at  Barnard  Castle  (No.  ^'^^  for 
example,  and  the  deep,  austere  Porte  de  Gand  at  Bruges  (No.  63), 
etched  on  the  spot  in  1906.  And  I  am  sure  that  Meryon  would 
have  liked  to  dream  over  that  mysterious  etching  where  men  at 
night,  aided  somewhat  by  the  local  glare  of  a  lantern,  unload  great 
barrels  of  wine  from  a  ship  at  Venice  (No.  109).  Brangwyn  has 
done  nothing  better  than  this  rich  study  in  the  distribution  of  light 
and  dusk,  air  and  generous  tone,  unforced  by  any  plot  that  is  too 
dark  or  noisy. 

5.  A  group  of  minor  etchings  at  Furnes,  all  done  on  the  spot  in 
1908,  like  the  "Market  Place"  (No.  126)  and  "A  Gateway"  (No. 
127).  They  connect  the  popular  life  in  street,  market  and  cafe, 
with  the  churches  of  St.  Walburge  and  St.  Nicholas.  "The  Apse 
of  St.  Walburge"  (No.  120,  17"  by  15')  like  "The  Church  of  St. 

93 


Walburge  "  (No.  124),  is  among  the  more  typical  Brangwyns ;  it  is 
peopled  with  most  pleasant  life,  and  abundantly  toned  and  designed. 

6.  A  group  of  fine  etchings  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  all  done  between 
1 910  and  1912.     They  were  etched  from  Nature. 

Humorous  sketching  frolics  in  "The  Mountebank"  and  "The  Bear- 
Leaders"  (Nos.  176  and  177),  which  are  as  good  as  two  other  swift 
croquis,  made  in  France  and  out  of  doors,  "A  Caravan  at  Albi"  (No. 
169)  and  "A  Farmer  at  Laroque"  (No.  164),  with  its  charming 
distance  of  climbing  heights  dappled  here  and  there  with  trees  and 
houses.  There  is  so  much  body  and  vim  in  these  wayfaring  notes 
that  they  form  a  genre  apart,  as  do  Daumier's  wit  and  the  peculiar 
epic  poem  that  Gavarni  drew  from  townsfolk  with  his  inimitable 
feeling  for  the  heroic  whimsies  of  mankind.  Brangwyn  has  not  done 
enough  yet  in  the  manner  of  his  Mountebank  and  his  Bear-Leaders. 
Laughter  in  etching,  witty  observation  and  satire,  with  good  humour, 
are  as  welcome  as  they  are  uncommon.  The  mountebank's  antic 
posture  is  a  genuine  "find,"  and  the  bears  are  well  observed,  though 
sketched  with  unusual  swiftness.  Let  us  welcome  also,  as  examples 
of  rapid  sketching  from  Nature,  "The  Village  Green  of  St.  Cirq" 
(No.  i65),"A  Village  Shop"  (No.  183),  and  "A  Street  at  St.  Cirq  " 
(No.  198),  connecting  them  with  such  notes  of  hand  as  "A  Cafe  at 
Cahors"  (No.  174),  "A  Beggar  Musician,  London"  (No.  187),  and 

"The  River  Lot  at  Vers"  (No.  179). 
As  for  the  greater  etchings  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  St.  Cirq,  let  me  name  three, 
beginning  with  some  "Old  Houses  at  St.  Cirq  " 
(No.  160,  I  of"  by  I4j").  What  a  discovery 
of  secluded  architecture  !  Note  the  high  walls, 
with  a  shuttered  window  here  and  there,  as 
if  masonry  were  cheaper  than  window-panes. 
Yet  there's  true  hospitality  in  that  light  fan- 
tastic balcony  suspended  below  shallow  eaves, 
where  wind  cannot  find  room  enough  to  make 
much  noise.  "On  the  Road  to  Figeac  "  (No. 
161),  the  companion  plate,  is  as  desirable. 
A  quaint  little  hamlet  finds  refuge  below  a 
huge  rock,  whose  age  and  weight  are  made 
real  to  us  with  freedom  and  a  dominant 
ease.      Equally  good  is  a  larger  print,  "  A  Cliff 

94 


Village  at  St.  Cirq"  (No.  162),  with  stalwart  trees,  and  a  picturesque 
raised  pathway,  and  a  majestic  rock,  strata  after  strata,  towering 
above  those  frail  homes  !  Romantic  France,  sometimes  her  own 
sweet  enemy,  is  everyone's  friend  in  the  varied  magic  of  her  country 
scenes.  Brangwyn  understands  her,  and  pretty  often  he  has  modified 
his  art  to  please  her,  as  in  his  war  posters. 


-^-H-ih^— 


95 


CHAPTER    VI         ETCHINGS 
W  A  T  E  R  M  I  L  L  S 


WINDMILLS    AND 


things    that 
as  merry  as 


home.      If 
and  should 
other   mute 
they  grow; 


they   see    all 
Peter  Pan, 


day 
in  the 


long. 


1:  education  were  rational  and 
national,  if  it  were  not  botched 
by  routine  -  mongers,  children 
would  be  taught  how  to  read 
history  in  the  common  useful 
There  is  a  delightful  tale, 
evolution  of  every  piece  of  house- 
hold furniture,  from  chairs  and  tables  to  beds  and  wardrobes  ; 
and  every  room  has  another  tale  charmed  with  centuries  of 
children  knew  all  the  bewitching  stories  that  could 
be  told  about  these  good  old  things,  and  about  many 
historians,  they  would  be  educated  as  naturally  as 
everything  around  them  would  help  to  make  the  past 
present  and  the  distant  near;  they  would  feel  that  the  generations 
dead  and  gone  ought  to  be  always  of  their  company.  I  know  men 
who  are  thorough  scholars  in  so  far  as  books  and  cobwebs  of  the 
study  can  give  and  embellish  learning,  yet  they  know  nothing  at  all 
about  the  evolution  of  handicrafts  and  architecture.  One  of  them 
asked  me  to  explain  the  difference  between  Gothic  and  Classic 
architecture,  and  to  give  him  an  example  of  each  in  London.  He 
asked  for  this  information  as  if  such  details,  as  a  rule,  were  below 
the  aspirations  of  a  bookman  deeply  versed  in  Greek  and  Latin. 
And  we  are  all  quite  ignorant  of  many  precious  enjoyments  which 
ought  to  have  been  opened  to  us  between  our  nursery  years  and  our 
early  teens. 

Windmills  and  watermills  are  among  the  many  unread  phases  of 
social  history  that  retain  the  past  ages,  here  and  there,  in  modernized 
towns  and  landscapes;  retain  the  past  ages,  and  at  the  same  time 
enrich  life  and  the  arts  in  two  different  ways ;  by  their  own  diversi- 
fied charm,  and  by  many  rich  associations  that  we  gather  partly 
from  them,  partly  from  their  history,  and  then  add  to  the  great 
paintings  and  prints  that  do  justice  to  fine  old  buildings.  Most  of 
us  are  overapt  to  forget  how  variously  the  memories  and  the  hearts 
of  mankind  enrich  great  art  from  their  stores  of  recollections  and 
associations.  Just  as  the  voices  of  larks  and  nightingales  are  forever 
beautified  by  the  rapt  praise  of  poets,  to  those  who  recall  this  praise 

96 


verse  bv  verse  after  the  birds 
have  sung,  so  every  great  picture 
inspired  by  things  seen  receives 
from  a  great  many  minds  emotions 
that  do  not  belong  to  its  art, 
emotions  emanating  from  studies 
or  from  personal  experiences  or 
from  both.  A  great  landscape 
in  art  is  a  landscape  no  more 
when  we  add  to  its  magic  as  art 
many  sorrows  and  joys  that  blend 
our  past  years  with  its  perman- 
ence ;  and  I  note  also  another 
point  in  the  spiritual  intercourse 
between  artists  and  the  genera- 
tions. When  George  Eliot  says 
that    differences    of    taste    break 

many  a  friendship,  she  forgets  to  add  that  these  antagonisms  come 
often — not  from  rivalries  between-opposed  temperaments  and  esthetic 
feelings,  but — from  happenings  of  a  private  and  personal  sort  which 
have  given  a  bias  to  a  mind's  higher  faculties.  If  as  a  boy  you  had 
been  nearly  drowned  in  a  mill  race,  you  would  not  be  drawn  by 
pleasure  towards  pictures  of  watermills,  for  instance,  because  memories 
of  your  fight  for  life  against  water  hurrying  to  the  wheel  would 
tyrannize  over  the  artist's  intention,  causing  you  to  muddle  a  picture's 
presence  by  thinking  of  an  unpleasant  episode  in  your  own  past. 
Brangwyn  must  be  fonder  of  windmills  than  of  watermills,  as  he 
etches  them  with  a  much  more  attractive  power  and  persuasion.  No 
incident  in  his  life  comes  between  him  and  them,  as  an  influence  that 
alienates  him  from  their  historical  shapes  and  romances.  Perhaps  he 
feels  that  most  rivers  are  but  make-believe  in  comparison  with  the 
sea  and  what  he  has  experienced  at  sea  under  western  and  eastern 
skies  and  storms ;  and  certainly  he  is  greatly  moved  by  the  down- 
right way  in  which  windmills  reach  up  to  catch  their  motive-power, 
however  keen  a  gale  may  be.  Even  his  old  ships,  like  the  "Duncan" 
and  "Britannia,"  are  not  felt  with  a  truer  and  more  affectionate 
touch  than  he  gives  to  every  part  of  a  windmill,  and  above  all  to 
intricate  vanes,  which  few  artists  have  put  in  with  the  right  sugges- 
tive blend  of  detailed  fact  and  entertaining  mystery. 
Again,  who  can  be  blind  to  the  humanity  that   windmills  display 

o  97 


during  their  toil  ?  They  chatter,  and  they  bicker,  they  grumble,  they 
growl,  they  lose  their  temper;  and  there  are  days  of  easy  wind  when 
they  seem  to  be  entirely  pleased  with  themselves,  like  trade  unionists 
who  have  gratified  their  devout  belief  in  limiting  their  output  as 
much  as  they  can.  Indeed,  the  history  of  windmills  has  been  stored 
with  a  trade-unionism  of  its  own,  for  men  of  science  have  estimated 
that  a  windmill  on  duty  all  the  year  through,  for  365  days,  would 
do  only  1 20  days  of  hard  work,  owing  to  the  wind's  holiday  making 
and  variableness.  And  let  me  give  in  brief  a  few  facts  more  that 
help  us  to  unite  Brangwyn's  windmills,  and  every  windmill  in  art, 
with  history. 

Not  one  of  Brangwyn's  few  windmills  has  a  type  that  is  regarded 
as  typically  medieval,  though  windmills,  like  wheelbarrows,  have 
changed  but  little  during  their  long  history.  Viollet-le-Duc  describes 
the  mediaeval  windmill  as  a  round  tower  with  a  conical  roof  and  with 
four  vanes  and  sails.  Ruysdael's  breezy  picture  at  Amsterdam, 
known  as  "The  Rhine  near  Wijk-By-Duurstede,"  has  a  round  tower 
that  is  very  high,  and  a  coned  roof  that  is  low,  and  a  timber  gallery 
encircles  the  stone  tower  about  half-way  up.  A  tall  doorway  is 
entered  from  this  gallery.  Only  one  window  is  seen,  but  a  fringe 
of  arrow-slits  for  ventilation,  if  not  once  for  defence  as  well,  is  placed 
on  the  topmost  floor.  Brangwyn's  "Windmill  at  Dixmuden"  (No. 
123,  on  zinc,  29I"  by  2 if"),  has  a  circular  ground-plan,  but  with  a 
strong  octagonal  feeling  in  it,  and  its  roofing  is  a  peculiar  sort  of 
patched  beehive  into  which  a  Gothic  liking  for  gables  has  found  its 
way  somehow.  Its  vanes,  too,  seem  to  be  more  complex  than  those 
in  Ruysdael's  mill,  and  a  finer  architectural  taste  has  embellished  the 
tower  with  purposeful  ideas.  Low  Flemish  cottages,  tiled  and  white- 
washed, are  close  to  this  windmill,  and  a  swineherd  with  his  drove, 
after  passing  the  mill  on  our  right,  enters  the  shaded  part  of  a  lively 
foreground.  This  etching  is  among  the  most  pictorial  that  Brangwyn 
has  published.  Its  windy  sky  is  a  painter's  sky,  and  its  manner 
throughout  is  so  fat  and  fluent,  so  rich  and  ample,  that  it  is  almost 
succulent,  although  careful  pointwork  all  over  the  windmill  is  ex- 
pressive. 

Some  persons  believe  that  round  windmills  were  never  a  general 
vogue  among  Englishmen,  as  they  seem  to  have  been  in  medieval 
Holland  and  France,  because  of  the  old  English  fondness  for 
gabled  timber  buildings.  Such  a  gabled  windmill  is  represented  in 
a  very  famous  manuscript  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Romance 
98 


of  Alexander,  in  our  Bodleian  Library,  where  we  find  also  a  magnifi- 
cent watermill  with  a  Double  M  roof,  four  decorated  windows  like 
those  in  church  architecture,  and  three  waterwheels  following  each 
other,  all  undershot.  1  know  nothing  to  warrant  the  assumption  that 
our  media'val  mills,  whether  driven  by  water  or  by  wind,  belonged 
usually  to  local  styles  of  domestic  architecture  that  our  ancestors 
loved.  Mills  and  their  owners  were  not  at  all  popular,  and  very 
often  they  were  hated — and  hated  with  sufficient  reason  too.  No 
mill  could  be  established  without  licence  from  the  Crown ;  and, 
whether  it  was  owned  by  a  manor  or  by  a  monastery,  it  was  a  symbol 
of  despotic  power,  everybody  in  its  neighbourhood  had  to  use  it 
as  an  obligation.  Mills,  then,  were  very  valuable  property  with 
oppressive  customs  and  rights.  In  many  cases  they  seem  to  have 
been  attached  to  manors,  and  to  have  been  transferred  along  with 
manors;  and  by  this  means,  many  a  time,  they  seem  to  have  passed 
from  laymen  to  monks.  Often  they  were  granted  by  the  Crown  to 
monasteries,  and  often  they  belonged  to  lords  of  manors  and  to  the 
Crown.  Some  English  watermills  occupied  the  same  sites  from 
Saxon  days  to  modern  times,  like  the  castle-mill  and  the  king's-mill 
at  Oxford,  which  are  mentioned  in  Domesday  survey,  at  which 
period  also  a  mill  at  Dover  was  driven  by  the  sea's  flux  and  reflux. 
But  the  main  point  is  that  mediaeval  mills  were  imperious  monop- 
olies, and  connected  daily  bread  with  much  popular  bitterness.* 
Often  among  the  French  these  monopolies  were  upheld  sternly, 
defaulters  losing  their  corn  and  their  carts  and  horses;  so  it  is  not 
surprising  to  learn  that  many  French  watermills  were  placed  for 
security  on  eyots,  or  at  the  end  rf  bridges  easy  to  defend,  and  that 
they  were  often  fortified,  above  all  in  Guienne,  when  our  own  fore- 
fathers ruled  over  this  French  province.  A  watermill  here  and  there 
resisted  long  attacks,  like  the  King's-mill  at  Carcassonne,  which  in 
1240  held  at  bay  a  biggish  force  commanded  by  Trencavel.     Some 

•  Thorold  Rogers  gives  some  useful  facts  :  "  The  most  important  lay  tenant  of  a  manor 
was  the  miller.  Every  parish  had  its  watermill — sometimes  more  than  one,  if  there 
were  a  stream  to  turn  the  wheel — or  a  windmill,  if  there  were  no  water.  The  mill 
was  the  lord's  franchise,  and  the  use  of  the  manor  mill  was  an  obligation  on  the  tenants. 
The  lord,  therefore,  repaired  the  mill,  the  wheels,  or  the  sails,  and  found — often  a 
most  costly  purchase — the  mill-stones.  Sometimes  the  homage  at  the  court  baron 
supervises  the  contract  with  the  local  carpenter  for  the  labour  needed  in  constructing 
the  mill  wheel ;  sometimes  the  jury  of  the  court  leet  prosecutes  the  miller  for  using  a 
false  measure  and  for  taking  excessive  toll.  The  miller  figures  in  the  legends  and 
ballads  of  the  time  as  the  opulent  villager,  who  is  keen  after  his  gains,  and  not  over 
honest  in  the  collection  of  them." — Six  Centuries  of  Work  and  ff^ages,  chapter  i. 

99 


fortified  watermills  were  noble  buildings,  as  Leo  Drouyn  shows  in 
his  most  excellent  book  La  Guienm  Militaire.  And  among  English- 
men also  mills  provoked  much  social  unrest,  as  during  the  fourteenth 
century,  when  useful  handmills  were  invented  as  a  protest  against 
despotic  watermills  and  windmills,  and  when  monks  and  other  mill- 
owners  opposed  the  innovation  with  stern  selfishness.  But  the 
people  clung  to  their  rightful  purpose,  declaring  their  will  to  use 
handmills  without   trouble  from   persecution;   and   time's  mockery 


has  laughed  at  the  monks 
mills  upon  a  nation  or 
At  Fountain's  Abbey, 
an  old  abbey  watermill 
dreds  of  years,  for  it 
of  it  was  as  old  as  the 
OneofBrangwyn's  water- 
doors — recalls  to  mind 
millers  liked  to  be  quite 
mills  were  safe  against 
like  etching  called  "The 
reuil-sur-Mer,"  where 
it  is  carefully  boxed  over, 
seems  to  be  a  descendant 
tom  of  hiding  wheels 
ing  weapons  like  man- 
boat  down-stream.  At 
thirteenth-century  water- 
two  great  pointed  cut- 
piers  were  built,  then 
I  like  much  to  think  of 
at    Brangwyn's    etching. 


who  wished  to  force  their 
archers  and  sportsmen. 
Yorkshire,  for  example, 
outlived  its? owner  hun- 
existed  in  1850,  and  part 
reign  of  Henry  theThird. 
mills  —  etched  out  of 
those  militant  days  when 
sure  that  they  and  their 
attack. l*^>  It  is  a  Meryon- 
Mill  Wheels  at  Mont- 
one  wheel  is  not  seen,  as 
This  enclosed  wheel 
from  the  medieval  cus- 
away  from  stone-throw- 
gonels  and  from  raids  by 
Melun,  for  example,  a 
wheel  was  built  between 
waters  upon  which  turret 
united  by  an  arch ;  and 
these  matters  when  I  look 
with    its   agitated    water 


and  its  hidden  wheel.  Montreuil  watermill  appears  also  in  another 
etching  (No.  33,  14"  by  hI")^  but  here  a  timber  footbridge  is  the 
main  motif. 

Many  writers  believe  that  the  idea  of  building  windmills  came  from 
the  East  with  returning  Crusaders,  and  it  is  certain  that  Norman 
windmills  have  been  known  always  as  Turquois.  This  popular  nick- 
name appears  in  a  document  of  1408,  and  is  still  in  use,  I  believe. 
Yet  the  windmill's  origin  remains  obscure,  a  subject  for  useful  dis- 
cussion. Some  time  in  the  twelfth  century  windmills  appeared  in 
France  and  England,  and  as  early  as  our  third  Henry's  reign  they  were 

100 


used  for  various  purposes.  In  1251  three  windmills  were  ordered 
to  be  built  in  the  park  at  Guildford,  one  for  hard  corn,  another  for 
malt,  and  a  third  for  fulling,  just  as  the  Dutch  of  to-day  use  wind- 
mills for  irrigation  and  also  for  draining  swamps.  Yet  few  persons 
regret  the  disappearance  of  windmills  from  our  landscapes.  Progress 
murders  so  many  great  old  things  that  life  is  as  new  and  as  noisy  as 
a  growling  aeroplane.  Let  us  be  just  a  little  old-fashioned,  then 
many  permanent  mills  in  art  will  be  surrounded  by  what  we  can 
learn  about  the  romantic  history  through  which  mills  of  all  sorts 
have  passed  in  Europe. 

Rembrandt's  etched  windmill,  a  beautiful  synthetic  drawing,  is  an 
idler,  a  windmill  in  the  doldrums,  hallowed  with  history.  For  a 
long  time  it  was  regarded  as  Rembrandt's  birthplace,  as  a  small 
rustic  cottage  adjoins  the  mill;  but  modern  research  has  proved,  as 
in  the  work,  of  Rammelman  Elsevier,  that  the  windmill  run  by 
Rembrandt's  father  was  situated  on  a  salient  of  the  rampart  in  the 
town  of  Leyden  itself,  quite  near  to  the  White  Gate  (Witteport) ; 
that  it  was  un  moulin  a  dreche  (or  mill  for  malting)  sur  un  des  bras 
du  Rhin;  and  that  a  drawing  made  by  Bisschop  in  1660  represents 
this  windmill.  Nearly  two  centuries  later,  in  1853,  Bisschop's 
drawing  was  etched  by  Cornet,  keeper  of  the  museum  at  Leyden  ; 
and  another  etching  of  the  drawing  was  published  by  Charles  Blanc 
in  the  first  volume  of  his  CEuvre  complet  de  Rembrandt*  Yet  truth 
can  be  very  dull.  Lucky  were  the  good  people  who  preceded  the 
discovery  of  Bisschop's  drawing,  for  they  added  to  Rembrandt's 
etching  their  belief  that  they  knew  the  home  of  their  Master's 
childhood. 

A  windmill  in  art,  however  fine  as  a  line  etching  or  as  a  painting, 
does  not  attract  me  fully  unless  I  am  made  to  feel  around  it  the 
pressure  of  wind  and  the  spacious  firmament  of  air.  Rembrandt's 
etching  brings  a  charming  old  windmill  too  near  to  us ;  it  needs  the 
concordant  and  seductive  romance  with  which  his  oil-painting  of  a 
windmill  is  environed  and  saturated.  Brangwyn  has  no  idler  among 
his  few  windmills,  and  he  turns  their  poetry  into  epics.  Here  is 
the  Black  Windmill  at  Winchelsea  (No.  135),  toned  and  glorified 
by  sunset  during  a  fine  harvest  season,  with  two  groups  of  tired 

*  This  etching  is  most  interesting.  Imagine  a  round  hut  with  a  cone-shaped  roof; 
cut  off  the  top  of  this  cone,  then  build  upon  it  a  tall  wooden  structure  with  a  gabled 
roof:  add  four  great  vanes  and  their  sails,  and  you  have  the  Rembrandt  windmill  on 
the  ramparts.  The  tower  portion,  though  circular,  is  patterned  into  many  angles,  how 
many  I  cannot  see,  but  more  than  an  octagon,  I  believe. 

lOI 


harvesters  plodding  across  a  pleasant  foreground  towards  wooden 
rails  on  our  right,  which  climb  picturesquely  up  the  mound  to 
the  great  mill.  On  our  left,  beyond  the  semicircular  mound,  is  a 
distant  view  of  Winchelsea  Flats,  with  a  cornfield  in  cocks.  A  boy 
climbs  the  mound,  his  body  standing  up  sharp  against  the  sky. 
Boys  will  be  boys,  of  course,  but  this  lad  is  a  trespasser  in  art, 
and  I  should  like  to  see  him  displaced  by  a  flock  of  homing  birds, 
whose  presence  at  different  planes  of  the  sky  would  increase  the  vast 
depth  of  space  very  finely  suggested  by  a  radiating  sunset  with 
clouds  enough  to  keep  us  very  near  to  a  fanning  wind.  As  for 
the  windmill  itself,  we  see  it  in  a  side  view,  with  three  of  its  great 
vanes ;  and  the  radiance  of  sunset  is  all  around  its  bulk,  causing  it 
to  look  almost  spectral,  almost  translucent.* 

A  much  finer  windmill,  architecturally,  with  a  smaller  one,  appears 
in  "  Windmills  at  Bruges"  (No.  70,  2o|"  by  i  8|").  It  was  etched 
on  the  spot  in  1 906,  two  years  before  the  Black  Windinill  at  Win- 
chelsea. It  stands  on  a  hillock,  its  whole  bulk  cut  out  against  a  sky 
thronged  with  thunder  clouds.  But  a  gleam  of  sun  breaks  through 
these  clouds  and  illumines  one  side  of  the  mill,  casting  two  bands  of 
shadow  from  a  massive  vane  across  old  timber,  which  is  handled 
with  Brangwyn's  keen  sympathy  for  weatherbeaten  wood.  Here  is 
a  mill  of  uncommon  height,  and  its  upper  part  or  storey,  just  a  little 
overhung  on  corbels,  forms  a  most  attractive  Mansard  roof — a  hipped 
curb  roof  having  on  all  sides  two  slopes,  the  lower  one  being  steeper 
than  the  upper  one.  As  Franfois  Mansard  or  Mansart  died  in  1662, 
we  may  assume  that  this  mill  may  be  not  much  later  than  his  time. 
The  mill  rests  not  on  the  ground  but  on  triangular  supports  which 
seem  to  be  somewhat  more  than  a  foot  in  width ;  so  a  considerable 
space  under  the  mill  can  be  used  for  storage.  High  up  on  the  first  floor 
is  an  entrance,  flanked  on  our  left  side  by  a  suspended  lean-to,  and 
connected  with  the  ground  by  a  fixed  ladder,  which  tapers  upwards 
from  a  wide  base.  At  one  spot,  about  half-way  up,  this  rustic  ladder 
must  be  rather  difficult  to  mount  with  a  sack  of  corn  on  one's  back, 
for  a  curving  beam  passes  through  it  from  the  hollow  under  the  mill 
to  a  narrow  trestle  at  the  ladder's  foot,  where  the  beam  is  held  up 
also  by  two  posts  fixed  against  it  slantingly.  There  is  a  shuttered 
window  above  the  entrance  door,  and  another  opening  in  a  gabled 

*  The  poet  Verhaeren  was  very  much  impressed  by  this  etching.  "  Here  is  the 
fantastic  Black  Mill,"  he  wrote,  "ruling  over  plains  and  the  heather;  clouds  seem  to 
make  signs  to  it  afar  oft'  through  space." 

102 


end  has  above  it  a  rough  sort  of  hood  or  canopy  to  act  as  an  umbrella 
against  beating  rains.  On  our  right,  passing  over  the  hillock's  brow, 
a  miller's  w^ain  turns  its  back,  upon  us;  and  on  our  lett,  beyond  the 
ladder,  a  smaller  vv^indmill  throws  up  its  arms  and  catches  wind  and 
sunlight. 

A  windmill  similar  in  type,  but  perched  up  high  on  slanting  posts, 
was  etched  by  Brangwyn  at  Furnes  in  190S  (No.  133,  15"  by  12"). 
Its  lower  part  is  mostly  hidden  by  a  very  rustic  piggery,  roofed  by 
tiles  and  creeping  plants;  and  a  man  with' a  small  pig  in  his  arms 
has  passed  through  the  gate  and  crosses  a  lane  to  a  rough  shanty  on 
our  right. 

I  have  to  speak  of  only  one  mill  more,  a  jolly  old  watermill  at 
Brentford,  a  fine  timber  building  that  progress  has  devoured  since 
1904,  when  Brangwyn  etched  it  out  of  doors  on  a  zinc  plate  twelve 
inches  square.  It  is  a  lively  etching — and  scarce,  for  only  fifteen 
proofs  have  been  published,  and  its  metal  plate  is  destroyed,  like 
the  watermill. 


103 


CHAPTER   VII      ETCHINGS:    A  FEW    BRIDGES 


etween  1901 
wyn  put  the 
Bridge 


on 
different    from    that 
pastel   which    shows 


and    1 904   Brang- 

name   of   London 

three    etchings,    all 


well-known 
two  arches 


of  Rennie's  bridge,  rising  behind  a  wide  and  deep  foreground  occupied 
by  interlocked  barges  and  merry  boys  bathing.  I  am  not  very  fond 
of  New  London  Bridge,  she  is  too  small  to  be  in  scale  with  our 
prodigious  city ;  so  I  am  pleased  when  only  two  of  her  arches  are 
sketched  in  a  background.  But  Brangwyn,  I  think,  in  his  first  etched 
version  of  London  Bridge,  is  just  a  little  too  ironical  towards  George 
Rennie,  who  designed  this  bridge,  and  Sir  John  Rennie,  who  watched 
over  the  work  and  brought  it  to  completion  by  1831.  Not  a  single 
arch,  nor  even  half  an  arch,  is  distinctly  visible,  because  a  tramp 
steamer,  anchored  in  the  middle  distance,  is  deemed  preferable;  and 
she  is  entertaining,  with  her  pleasant  lines  and  her  wreathing  smoke. 
This  etching  was  drawn  on  copper,  and  is  nearly  square  (iif"  by 
1 1|").  Its  motif  is  that  part  of  our  riverside  which,  seen  from  below 
bridge,  looks  towards  Cannon  Street  Station  and  St.  Paul's.  Fish- 
mongers' Hall,  with  its  lethargic  masonry,  another  episode  of  1831, 
is  in  the  middle  plane  of  a  busy  composition;  it  has  nothing  con- 
cordant with  the  vast  gray  antiquity  of  our  mysterious  Thames, 
which  needs  from  architects  a  massive  grandeur*  in  design  like  that 
which  Roman  architects  put  into  Vespasian's  amphitheatre,  the 
Coliseum,  and  into  many  a  wondrous  bridge,  like  the  mighty  and 
magnificent  Puente  Trajan  over  the  Tagus,  at  Alcantara,  erected  by 
Caius  Julius  Lacer.    As  a  rule  our  countrymen  have  no  lofty  feeling  for 

*  Lord  Morley  has  published  some  excellent  remarks  on  the  quality  of  grandeur  {On 
Compromise,  pp.  lo-Il):  "There  is  a  certain  quality  attaching  alike  to  thought  and 
expression  and  action,  for  which  we  may  borrow  the  name  of  grandeur.  It  has 
been  noticed,  for  instance,  that  Bacon  strikes  and  impresses  us,  not  merely  by  the  sub- 
stantial merit  of  what  he  achieved,  but  still  more  by  a  certain  greatness  of  scheme  and 
conception.  This  quality  is  not  a  mere  idle  decoration.  It  is  not  a  theatrical  artifice 
of  mask  or  buskin,  to  impose  upon  us  unreal  impressions  of  height  and  dignity.  The 
added  greatness  is  real.  Height  of  aim  and  nobility  of  expression  are  true  forces.  They 
grow  to  be  an  obligation  upon  us.  A  lofty  sense  of  personal  worth  is  one  of  the  surest 
elements  of  greatness.  That  the  lion  should  love  to  masquerade  in  the  ass's  skin  is  not 
modesty  and  reserve,  but  imbecility  and  degradation.  And  that  England  should  wrap 
herself  in  the  robe  of  small  causes  and  mean  reasons  is  the  more  deplorable,  because 
there  is  no  nation  in  the  world  the  substantial  elements  of  whose  power  are  so  majestic 
and  imperial  as  our  own.  .  .  ." 

104 


\l'  It'  k    \    KI'll'  N  1     I-.  Ii    MINI 


rat 


heroic  scale,  except  in  the  wandering  haphazard  of  their  colonization. 
Must  we  believe  that  our  natural  fondness  for  cant  and  compromise 
strikes  with  atrophy  that  right  and  high  sense  of  personal  worth 
which  candour  nourishes  and  imagination  fires  with  ardour?  Fish- 
mongers' Hall,  indeed !  and  Rennie's  mild  bridge,  which  in  less  than 
fifty  years  was  advertised  in  Parliament  as  too  narrow  for  our  city's 
traffic !  It's  a  terrible  thing  when  a  great  nation  prides  herself  not 
only  on  cant,  but  also  on  being  pre-eminently  practical,  superlatively 
businesslike,  or  as  rational  as  a  chartered  accountant.  Her  imagina- 
tion falls  asleep,  she  fears  audacious  dignity,  and  tries  to  achieve 
greatness  by  creeping  into  it  little  by  little,  as  she  creeps  into  a  big 
war.  Not  one  of  our  London  bridges  represents  our  city's  magni- 
tude as  the  Pont  du  Gard  represents  the  fearless  and  massive  enterprise 
of  ancient  Roman. 

Still,  we  have  Fishmongers'  Hall  and  New  London  Bridge,  and  the 
Hall  is  well  placed  in  Brangwyn's  etching.  We  see  not  too  much 
of  it ;  and  some  tall  warehouses  on  our  left,  and  that  huge  crane 
stretched  out  from  one  of  them  to  a  diligent  steamer,  are  more 
typical  by  far  of  riverside  energy  and  purpose,  qualities  which  the 
etching  shows  also  in  a  foreground  simple  and  effective  as  design 
and  abundantly  suggestive  of  those  oddments  that  gather  about 
quays  and  attract  sympathy  as  emblems  of  hard  toil. 
At  first  this  etching  was  an  outline  only,  or  nearly  so,  only  a  little 
shade  was  put  in  sparingly  here  and  there;  and  its  pointwork  being 
lightly  bitten,  the  printing  was  grayish  and  restful,  and  many  hinted 
matters  of  fact — row  after  row  of  windows,  all  alike,  for  instance — 
remained  mute.  This  stage  or  state  I  like  very  much ;  it  mingles 
quietness  with  briskness ;  but  Brangwyn  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and  only 
six  proofs  were  taken  from  his  copper.  Then  change  after  change 
came;  with  much  rebiting,  until  a  lively  and  desirable  sketch  re- 
treated under  massed  light  and  shade.  This  painterly  effect  was  not 
a  brilliant  success.  The  steamer  grew  darker,  her  smoke  more  abun- 
dant and  coalish ;  a  murky  opaque  sky  shut  up  the  distance  beyond 
Fishmongers'  Hall ;  and  overmuch  emphasis  appeared  elsewhere. 
Only  one  proof  was  taken  of  this  laboured  state;  it  belongs  to  Mr. 
A.  T.  Gledhill,  so  the  official  Catalogue  tells  me. 
In  its  third  state  this  etching  lost  its  name  and  much  of  its  copper, 
becoming  Fishmongers'  Hall  (No.  50,  5"  by  7I').  Under  this  name 
it  was  published  as  a  gift  in  the  "The  Acorn,"  a  quarterly  review 
belonging  to  the  Caradoc  Press.     To-day,  says  the  Catalogue,  "there 

P  105 


are  in  the  market  a  fair  number  of  unsigned 
and  inferior  prints  of  this  subject.  Later  the 
plate  was  bought  back,  retouched,  and  issued  in 
a  limited  edition" — fifty  proofs  in  all,  and  note- 
worthy. 

A  partial  failure  ends  one  venture  and  begins 
another :  so  Brangwyn  made  a  second  attack  on 
his  motif,  not  in  a  skirmishing  mood,  but  with 
that  fine  temper  which  Wellington  described 
as  hard  pounding.  The  first  venture  was  a 
reconnaissance  only,  and  it  uncovered  some  very 
stiff  problems.  Our  Thames  atmosphere,  with 
its  frequent  magic  of  smoke  and  mist,  makes  a 
painter  happy  and  an  etcher  ill  at  ease  ;  and 
when  to  this  blurred  atmosphere  we  add  the 
mystery  of  line  in  riverside  houses,  barges,  and 
shipping,  we  come  face  to  face  with  an  amalgam 
of  difficulties  outside  the  ordinary  scope  of  etching.  Meryon 
was  aided  by  the  neater  and  sharper  atmosphere  of  the  Seine,  which 
amused  the  delicate  vigour  of  his  persuasive  and  decisive  touch; 
while  Brangwyn  has  been  troubled  somewhat  by  the  Thames,  whose 
magic  has  appealed  perhaps  overmuch  to  the  painter  in  his  etched 
work.  Though  his  second  attack  on  the  motif  named  London  Bridge 
achieved  much  more  than  the  first,  it  is  not  to  me  a  victory  all  along 
the  line ;  it  strikes  me  as  being  a  drawn  battle  between  his  intention 
and  his  tools. 

Setting  aside  a  trial  proof  in  outline,  this  etching  is  known  in  three 
states,  printed  from  copper  measuring  2ii"  by  i6|".  We  see,  then, 
that  in  order  to  encounter  his  motif  on  terms  as  even  as  he  could 
choose,  our  artist  greatly  increased  the  size  of  his  plate,  though  eleven 
inches  square  could  not  be  deemed  a  poor  battlefield.  Important 
changes  appear,  the  whole  motif  being  reviewed  and  recast.  The 
steamer  has  put  on  a  bolder  look,  and  another  shows  her  funnel 
plainly ;  we  see  an  abutment  of  our  bridge,  with  part  of  an  arch ; 
and  in  the  middle  distance  more  attention  is  given  to  riverside  busi- 
ness and  much  less  to  riverside  architecture.  Indeed,  the  warehouses 
have  almost  disappeared,  and  that  huge  crane  is  lifted  up  towards 
the  roof,  becoming  a  minor  thing  now  in  a  design  full  of  smoking 
business;  and  Fishmongers'  Hall,  more  carefully  studied,  forms  with 
the  bridge  an  extended  plot  of  sunned  light,  foiled  by  shadow  over 

106 


the  glimpse  of  warehouses  and  across  the  middle 
distance.  A  sluggish  cumulus  cloud  trails  from 
behind  the  Hall  and  upwards,  billowing  until 
it  seems  almost  to  blend  with  much  varied  coal 
smoke  belched  from  both  steamers.  Massive 
girders  run  across  the  foreground  where  eight 
or  nine  workmen  take  their  ease  and  talk  cosily 
as  democrats  with  votes. 

It  is  said  that  this  etching  has  four  states,  but 
a  single  trial  proof  is  really  a  test,  not  a  state, 
except  to  printsellers,  whose  minds  bask  among 
mysteries.  To  me,  then,  "London  Bridge  No. 
2"  has  three  states,  each  with  points  of  its  own. 
There  is  much  in  the  first  state  that  I  like  best ; 
it  retains  many  qualities  ot  a  good  sketch,  and 
the  motif  seems  not  grand  enough  for  elaborated 
light  and  shade.  Aquatint  graining  and  foul 
biting  play  their  parts  well  along  the  foreground  of  later  states,  but 
yet  I  prefer  the  hinted  foreground  in  the  first  stage,  with  its  light 
aquatint  texture. 

Still,  by  means  of  technical  experiments,  Brangwyn  gained  much 
control  over  his  tools.  This  fact  is  very  noticeable  in  London  Bridge 
No.  3,  etched  on  copper  like  its  forerunners;  it  measures  21"  by  16°, 
and  has  no  history  of  states.  We  are  in  a  wharf  below  bridge,  and 
most  of  the  foreground  is  an  orderly  disorder  oi  barrels,  all  suggested 
with  first-rate  skill.  A  cluster  of  barrels,  grappled  by  thin  chains  to 
a  suspended  chain  cable,  has  begun  to  rise,  and  beyond  it  is  an  empty 
barge  lying  close  to  a  great  warehouse,  an  apt  and  attractive  building 
because  it  looks  fit  for  its  purpose.  Boats  are  moored  against  a  land- 
ing platform ;  and  beyond  these  boats,  high  up  on  our  right,  we  see 
Fishmongers'  Hall  again,  and  a  glimpse  of  Rennie's  bridge. 
Here  is  a  thorough  Brangwyn,  resonant,  opulent,  masterful;  and  it 
has  certain  qualities  also  that  are  controversial,  qualities  that  come 
to  those  artists  who  prefer  a  decorative  synthesis  to  any  display 
in  receding  planes  of  meticulous  perspective.  When  these  certain 
qualities  appear  in  etching,  they  are  apt  to  show  themselves  as  plots 
of  uniformity  in  an  orchestration  that  rules  over  relative  values  and 
the  distribution  of  light,  shade,  and  half-tone.  But  yet  I  must  speak 
on  this  point  with  sufficient  explanation. 
Decorative  work  ought  to  displace  at  least  seventy-five  per  cent,  of 

107 


easel  pictures ;  and  I  am  equally  sure  that  a  big  artist  has  a  right  to 
form  a  genre  of  his  own  in  the  management  of  light  and  shade,  just 
as  Gregory  the  Great  had  a  right  to  introduce  plain-song,  or  canto 
fermo,  a  noble  kind  of  unisonous  music.  Brangwyn's  etchings  have 
plain-song  qualities  of  their  own,  unisonous  and  massive;  they  remind 
us  how  alert  he  has  ever  been  to  the  fact  that  painters  are  often 
called  upon  to  find  happy  compromises  between  too  little  perspective, 
which  is  primitive  and  archaic,  and  too  much  perspective,  which 
makes  holes  in  our  walls.  A  French  artist  writes  on  this  matter  as 
follows : — 

"On  veut  que  la  peinture  murale,  noble  et  belle,  mais  circonspecte,  complete 
avant  tout  I'architecture  qu'elle  decore.  Sereine  et  detachee  de  nos  pre- 
occupations directes,  elle  a,  dit-on,  pour  role  de  personnifier  et  de  continuer, 
dans  sa  langue  austere  et  muette,  I'enseignement  de  la  chaire  ou  I'idee  de  la 
loi.  Elle  poursuit,  en  le  modifiant  selon  les  sujets,  le  caractere  auguste  et 
impassible  qu'elle  a  herite  des  Egyptiens,  des  Assyriens  et  des  Grecs,  dont 
parfois,  de  nos  jours,  elle  emprunte  encore  les  formules.  Ainsi  comprise, 
elle  est  certes  digne  d'admiration  et  de  respect :  sa  gloire  a  travers6  les 
siecles,  mais  elle  est  dependante  d'un  art  jaloux  de  ses  droits  centre  lequel 
elle  s'est  souvent  revoltee  pour  prendre  ses  libertes  d'allure,  ne  se  conten- 
tant  plus  de  celebrer  des  symboles  et  de  balancer  des  lignes  harmonieuses. 
Elle  s'est  alors  franchement  detachee  de  I'Architecture,  qu'elle  a  animee  sans 
s'y  meler.  Je  ne  crois  pas  que  cette  derniere  y  ait  perdu.  Car  si  pale,  si 
effacee  que  soit  une  fresque,  si  elle  n'evite  pas  les  ciels  et  les  plans  fuyants, 
elle  troue  les  murailles  et,  comme  Samson,  ebranle  I'edifice.  .  .  ."* 

This  is  put  with  fairness,  if  we  pass  over  the  unphilosophic  conven- 
tion of  describing  the  painter's  art  as  a  perennial  person  that  plans, 
meditates,  achieves,  and  rebels.  Confusion  of  thought  comes  as  soon 
as  writers  forget  that  art  is  what  good  and  great  artists  do  from  age 
to  age.  It  is  rubbish  to  say  that  the  art  of  painting  rebels  against  the 
discipline  of  architecture.  The  rebels  are  painters,  often  minor  men 
so  full  of  self  that  they  cannot  see  how  foolish  it  is  to  turn  their  art 
into  a  reckless  courtesan  dependent  on  chance  buyers  who  visit  shops, 
exhibitions,  and  auctions.  Only  five  or  six  easel  painters  in  a 
generation  enjoy  more  than  a  fugitive  vogue.  The  others  as  a  rule 
waste  their  lives  in  producing  baubles  for  an  overstocked  market,  as 
if  householders  yearned  to  buy  painted  canvas  fastened  into  gilt 
frames.  Most  painters  would  serve  their  country  to  much  better 
purpose  if  they  decorated  homes  with  panels  and  friezes,  and  taught 

•  Nos  Peintres  du  Steele,  par  Jules  Breton,  pp.  225-26. 
108 


the  people  how  to  furnish  their  rooms  with  courageous  economy 
and  good  taste.  More  nonsense  has  been  talked  and  written  about 
easel  painting  than  about  any  other  artistical  subject ;  so  persons  of 
common  sense  rejoice  when  an  artist  of  real  genius,  like  Brangwyn, 
keeps  constantly  before  his  mind  what  qualities  decorative  design  can 
and  should  make  real,  without  drifting  into  archaism,  or  into  a 
bloodless  routine,  like  that  by  which  Puvis  de  Chavannes  enfeebled 
his  seductive  conceptions,  after  achieving  in  1859,  his  opulent  and 
noble  work  called  "La  Paix"  (Musee  d'Amiens). 
Nothing  is  more  difficult  to  achieve  than  a  wise  compromise.  Puvis 
de  Chavannes,  wishing  to  avoid  overmuch  perspective,  turned  his 
back  not  only  on  his  natural  self  but  also  on  Tintoret,  Michelangelo, 
and  other  supreme  masters  of  decoration;  and  then,  with  faint 
colours  and  a  childlike  ingenuousness,  far-sought,  and  to  some  extent 
dear-bought,  he  tried  to  separate  decorative  art  from  human  passion 
and  the  world's  life  and  vigour.*  As  for  Brangwyn,  while  wishing  to 
avoid  overmuch  perspective,  he  lifts  into  decorative  art  our  modern- 
ized industries,  with  much  else  from  the  outside  welter  of  human 
realities,  simply  by  giving  what  I  called  a  plain-song  orchestration  to 
his  management  of  values,  perspective,  and  light  and  shadow.  Often 
his  compromise  has  a  splendid  allure,  but  yet  it  is  easier  to  manage 
when  paint  or  pastel  is  the  medium.  Then  he  and  we  can  be  happy 
in  his  original  distinction  as  a  brave  and  splendid  colourist.  Black 
and  white  being  a  convention  by  which  the  many-coloured  magic 
ot  Nature  is  translated  into  lines  and  monochrome,  all  changes  in 
those  values  that  mark  planes  and  receding  space  add  another 
formalism  to  an  art  already  opposed  to  our  many-coloured  world ; 
and  when  this  added  formalism  becomes  very  evident,  a  whole 
composition  may  lose  the  flow  of  a  spontaneous  rhythm,  and  may 
seem  to  be  shut  up  and  airless,  like  a  tapestry  in  black  and  white. 
Brangwyn  has  never  shut  up  his  etchings,  but  occasionally  I  see 
and  feel  that  his  tone  and  his  light  and  shade  are  somewhat  too 

*  He  cut  artists  who  questioned  his  later  manner,  never  pardoning  their  just  right  to 
think  and  speak  with  becoming  modesty  and  candour.  With  infinite  pains  he  began  by 
drawing  his  figures  from  the  life;  then  he  traced  them,  suppressing  all  detail.  Afterwards 
he  arranged  and  modified  his  composition  by  ringing  changes  with  his  tracings,  which 
he  placed  side  by  side  in  experimental  groups  and  combinations  until  he  was  pleased 
with  their  balance  and  their  ingenuous  beauty  and  allure.  Very  original  and  charming 
results  were  composed,  but  Puvis  failed  to  see  that  his  groups  and  their  gestures 
were  never  animated  by  a  sentiment  which  united  them  all  together  in  an  action  common 
to  all 

109 


succinct  and  uniform,  somewhat  too  arbitrary  towards  relative 
values  and  planes.* 

Portaels  said  to  me  many  a  time:  "Always  verify  your  darkest 
shadows  and  your  sparkling  lights,  because  in  all  work  they  are  likely 
to  be  overdone."  What  advice  could  be  better?  And  one  point 
more.  When  etchings  are  deeply  bitten,  then  printed  in  an  ink  not 
so  brown  as  Turner's,  over-emphasis  not  only  may  appear  here  and 
there,  it  may  appear  unnoticed  by  an  etcher,  who  is  trying  to  gratify 
an  emotion  that  needs  for  its  complete  expression  the  magic  of  paint 
or  pastel.  Rembrandt,  who  etched  often  as  a  painter  paints,  some- 
times carried  his  light  and  shade — and  particularly  his  shade  and  his 
depth  of  local  tint — into  monochrome  painting  with  an  etching 
needle ;  and  what  the  greatest  do  with  zest  is  not  a  thing  for  you  or 
me  to  question,  unless  a  too  emphatic  shadow  or  plot  of  deep  tone 
invites  criticism,  not  unlike  a  mistake  in  grammar  made  by  a  great 
writer.  As  a  chess-player  often  loses  a  game  by  thinking  too  much 
of  his  own  attack,  so  an  artist's  research  along  one  line,  when  too 
ardent,  leads  to  errors  in  other  considerations. 

In  Brangwyn's  etching  of  "Brentford  Bridge,"  another  early  print, 
we  may  watch  a  combat  between  his  mood  as  a  decorative  painter 
and  another  mood  aroused  in  his  mind  by  the  fact  that  he  is  at  work 
with  a  point  on  the  ground  covering  a  zinc  plate.  His  motif  is  a 
simple  bridge  of  one  arch,  a  cluster  of  houses  fit  to  be  honoured  by 
good  sketching,  and  a  foreground  with  barges  and  a  few  figures,  all 
in  shade.  In  a  study  of  this  sort,  blending  the  urban  and  urbane 
picturesque  with  commercial  toil,  one  has  no  wish  to  feel  that  a  sky 
and  its  technique  are  anything  more  than  hinted,  a  distance  left 
vague — and  alluring  because  of  its  vagueness.  But  Brangwyn  had 
observed  a  sudden  effect  of  sunlight  on  an  overcast  day,  and  his  sky 
even  in  his  trial  proofs  had  a  tone  which,  I  believe,  invited  too  much 
attention.  This  tone  was  deepened  into  threatening  clouds,  and  the 
foreground  also  was  intensified,  while  a  brilliant  light  shone  with 

*  I  am  speaking,  of  course,  of  the  impressions  which  I  have  studied  ;  but  the  impressions 
vary  much,  as  Henri  Marcel  points  out,  and  no  student  can  see  all  of  them. 
Brangwyn  never  fails  to  store  his  shadows  with  enough  animating  detail,  but  in  some 
impressions  defective  printing  harms  the  etched  workmanship.  When  a  dark  plot  in 
natural  chiaroscuro  is  side  by  side  with  a  sunny  and  glowing  plot,  all  detail  in  the  bright- 
ness appears  to  be  eaten  up  by  the  sun's  radiance,  while  abundant  veiled  detail  remains 
among  the  shaded  parts,  unless  a  shade  marks  a  hole.  For  this  reason  Brangwyn 
studies  every  shadow  that  he  etches,  and  as  a  rule,  whenever  it  seems  too  dark,  some- 
thing has  gone  wrong  with  the  printing. 

I  lO 


concentrated  warmth  on  Brentford  Bridge  and  to  less  extent  on  the 
houses.  As  an  exercise  it  is  well  worth  while  thus  to  play  with 
dangers  which  few  etchers  would  seek.  Still,  what  appeals  to  me 
most  of  all  is  precisely  that  portion  which  is  least  sought  after — 
Brentford  Bridge  and  the  experimental  way  in  which  the  houses  are 
resolved  into  an  epitome  of  their  own  character.  An  alembicating 
touch  is  a  rare  thing  among  architectural  etchers;*  and  as  for  re- 
search among  problems  of  light  and  shade,  its  value  depends,  I  suggest, 
not  alone  on  an  effect  observed,  but  also  on  two  other  things — imag- 
inative feeling  in  a  true  artist,  and  the  charm  added  by  an  apt  effect 
to  the  appeal  that  a  chosen  motif  possesses  at  all  times,  let  the  light 
and  shade  be  either  prosaic  or  epic.  For  the  idea  put  into  action  by 
so  many  modernists,  that  purpose  and  effect  deserve  more  attention 
than  artistic  pride  and  judgment  in  the  choice  of  motifs,  tends  to 
banish  from  art  the  difficulties  of  selection,  and  to  lower  its  devotees 
to  acquired  tastes  very  apt  to  go  out  of  vogue. 
Brangwyn's  light  and  shade  are  often  musical  with  varied  imagina- 

*  We  find  it  in  Cotman,  as  in  Prout's  pencil  drawings  of  Gothic  architecture. 


I  I  I 


tion,  and  it  is  only  here  and  there  that  he  dwells  too  long  on  a  motif 
that  has  not  enough  in  it  to  justify  more  work  than  a  sketch  needs. 
In  "Brentford  Bridge,"  as  in  several  other  early  etchings,  he  is  occu- 
pied more  with  a  complicated  effect  than  with  its  esthetic  value, 
unless  I  misjudge  his  versatility  here  ;  and  I  give  my  opinion 
because  a  big  man's  work  is  likely  to  attract  young  students  as  much 
by  its  occasional  errors  as  by  its  usual  merits. 

"Old  Kew  Bridge"  (No.  51,  i5i"  by  13"),  belongs  to  the  same  year, 
1904;  it  is  a  good  example  of  such  heavy  biting  as  one  likes  to  see 
under  mezzotint.  It  is  less  attractive  than  a  coloured  aquatint  of  the 
Gothic  bridge  at  Barnard  Castle  (No.  56,  14"  by  lof ),  the  music  of  a 
moonUght  very  well  felt  and  orchestrated.  Three  years  later  Barnard 
Castle  Bridge  was  etched  again,  this  time  on  a  much  larger  plate  (22' 
by  17V),  and  the  work  was  done  out  of  doors.  The  qualities  here  are 
those  of  a  searching  study  from  Nature  that  does  not  pass  from  supple- 
ness into  tightness.  There  is  a  generous  feeling  for  historic  stone- 
work and  for  the  angled  rhythm  of  the  parapet ;  and  as  for  the  two 
arches,  only  one  is  seen  in  full,  with  its  ribbed  belly,  like  those  ribs 
in  the  Monnow  Bridge,  an  old  fortified  structure  at  Monmouth. 
Barnard  Castle  Bridge  is  said  to  date  from  1596,  when  its  forerunner 
was  destroyed  during  the  insurrection  led  by  the  Earls  of  Westmore- 
land and  Northumberland  ;  but  its  rebuilders  kept  the  Gothic  pointed 
arch  and  gave  the  bridge  power  enough  to  resist  frequent  floods  on 
the  Tees.  Those  "  lost  "  archlets  that  strengthen  the  abutment  and 
ease  pressure  on  a  ring  of  voussoirs,  belong  to  the  year  1771,  when 
the  bridge,  after  being  seriously  damaged  by  a  huge  flood,  was  re- 
paired and  widened.  A  chapel  used  to  stand  on  this  Gothic  bridge, 
just  as  a  chapel  stands  now  on  Wakefield  Bridge.  Medieval  pilgrims 
and  wayfarers,  often  with  bad  roads  and  footpads  to  encounter,  liked 
their  bridges  to  be  symbols  of  Mother  Church  and  to  throw  out 
light  from  beacons  after  dark.  Reformers  and  Puritans,  followed 
by  our  modern  highway  authorities,  scorned  the  sacred  character 
that  bridges  long  possessed,  tearing  down  the  cross  or  crucifix  that 
graced  a  parapet  midway  between  the  abutments,  and  either  desecrat- 
ing or  pulling  down  the  pontal  chapels,  chantries,  and  oratories.  At 
Droitwich  a  high  road  passed  through  the  bridge  chapel,  separating 
the  congregation  from  the  reading-desk  and  the  pulpit.  St.  Thomas's 
Chapel  on  Bedford  Bridge  became  Bunyan's  gaol,  and  a  small  oratory 
on  the  bridge  at  Bradford-on-Avon,  Wiltshire,  still  extant,  declined 
also  into  a  "lock-up,"  and  in  1887  it  was  a  powder  magazine.  Yet 
112 


o  < 
•2 

o  o 


D    C 


Z    — 


humbugs  say  that  the  Germanic  elements  of  our  mixed  race  have 
always  been  inactive. 

A  bridge  appears  in  Br.angwyn's  etching  of  the  "The  Parrot  Inn  at 
Dixmuden"  (No.  131,  1908,  14I"  by  21 4"),*  but  it  is  foreshortened  or 
hindshortened  so  much  that  its  office  in  the  print  is  to  conduct  the  eye 
to  a  picturesque  old  inn  with  an  adorned  gable,  well  placed  among 
villagers  who,  six  years  before  the  war,  took  life  not  too  seriously. 
Has  Brangwyn  noticed  that  all  the  words  on  this  etched  inn  are  up- 
side down?  Two  years  later  Brangwyn  painted  and  etched  from 
Nature  a  very  notable  old  bridge  near  Taormina,  called  Alcantara, 
which  is  Arabic  for  The  Bridge  (No.  156,  i6|"  by  13").  Its  uneven 
parapet  has  a  fine  curving  sweep,  its  round  arches  gape  in  the  hot 
sun,  and  they  are  separated  by  such  wide  expanses  of  masonry  that 
they  seem  to  form  a  breakwater  as  well  as  a  time-ravaged  bridge, 
rising  from  the  bed  of  one  of  those  parched  rivers  which  the  rainy 
season  in  a  few  hours  will  turn  into  spates  and  torrents.  Bad  weather 
threatens  in  Brangwyn's  etching,  a  grim  storm  cloud  appearing 
suddenly  on  our  left.  A  dark  foreground  accents  the  sunlight,  which 
clasps  the  bridge,  and  a  shallow  river,  and  part  of  a  forlorn  old  tree 
growing  near  the  long  abutment. 

"A  Bridge  at  Bruges"  (No.  166),  also  etched  out  of  doors,  dates 
from  igio;  it  is  among  a  few  really  small  prints  in  Brangwyn's 
etched  work  that  take  their  ease  in  Brangwyn's  vigour.  Here  the 
metal  plate  measures  only  6|  inches  by  5I  inches,  and  a  greal  deal 
is  achieved  on  it  in  a  style  that  does  not  act  as  a  tyrant  over  a  small 
surface,  though  it  is  ample  enough  for  a  bigger  plate.  It  is  a  style, 
too,  that  keeps  the  sketching  charm  so  attractive  in  wayside  jottings 
and  travel  studies — above  all  when  architecture  has  to  be  hinted 
briefly  and  aptly.  The  sky  and  its  tone  are  suggested  with  right 
sympathy ;  houses  and  trees  take  their  place  with  a  naturalness  free 
from  over-emphasis ;  and  a  pleasant  bridge,  with  its  tall  gateway  and 
its  three  arches — a  wide  central  span  flanked  by  two  narrow  openings, 
all  round — could  not  well  be  better  sketched  with  a  rapid  needle, 
though  a  little  more  water  along  the  foreground  would  be  welcome. 
It  is  a  bridge  with  what  is  called  an  "  ass's  back,"  its  roadway  and 
parapet  rising  to  the  middle  of  their  length,  then  shelving  down  to 
an  abutment.  This  up-and-down  movement  is  pretty  steep,  but 
much  less  so  than  in  those  Chinese  bridges  that  sometimes  need 
steps;  or,  again,  than  in  many  an  old  Spanish  bridge,  such  as  the 

*  This  plate  was  etched  out  of  doors. 
Q  113 


Puente  de  San  Juan  de  las  Abadesas  at  Gerona,  and  a  longer  and 
finer  example  over  the  Mi  no,  at  Orense  in  Galicia. 
Brangwyn  is  very  fond  of  the  bridges  at  Albi,  and  I  know  not 
which,  as  a  picture,  is  preferable — the  high  bridge,  with  its  tall  piers 
and  round  arches,  or  a  barbarian  bridge  over  the  Tarn — one  of  seven 
pointed  and  uneven  arches,  with  uncouth  piers  and  cutwaters — 
whose  erection,  it  is  said,  was  arranged  in  1035,  at  a  great  public 
meeting  held  by  the  Seigneur  of  Albi  and  the  clergy.  Brangwyn 
has  painted  these  bridges  and  their  fine  surroundings,  and  has  put 
them  together  into  one  of  his  finer  etchings  (No.  221,  19^0"  by 
24iT)")-  A  Gothic  bridge  at  Espalion,  as  famed  in  controversy  as 
Albi  Bridge,  is  another  recent  etching  done  out  of  doors  ;  and  it  is 
printed  with  so  much  art  that  its  general  effect  seems  almost  to  unite 
the  work  with  mezzotint.  Some  brawny  men  along  the  foreground 
are  washing  skins,  Espalion  being  famous  for  tanning,  and  I  cannot 
say  that  I  prefer  them  to  the  refreshing  water  and  the  historic 
bridge. 

Brangwyn's  favourite  medieval  bridge  is  the  Pont  Valentre  at 
Cahors,  a  fortified  work  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  a  noble 
masterpiece,  remarkable  for  its  massive  elegance  or  its  elegant 
massiveness.  But  I  have  no  right  to  speak  of  this  monument  as 
"it,"  a  mediaeval  knight  among  bridges  being  a  genuine  Sir,  a  great 
male  in  chivalric  bridge-building.  He  appears  in  two  of  Brangwyn's 
etchings — a  big  one  on  zinc  (No.  178,  32"  by  2ii"),  and  a  smaller 
one  on  copper  (No.  189,  9I"  by  6|").  Both  date  from  191 1.  The 
smaller  print,  rich,  airy,  velvety,  romantic,  shows  the  bridge  almost 

in  a  front  view,  but  partly  hidden  by  trees 
on  our  right.  It  is  good  to  note  how  this 
bridge  crosses  the  Lot  on  his  five  vast  piers 
and  his  six  ogevale  arches,  with  three  proud 
towers,  proof  against  all  medieval  attack, 
looking  bold  in  their  challenging  sequence. 
As  for  the  large  print  of  Le  Pont  Valentre, 
it  has  two  states,  and  in  its  second  one  a 
light  sky  is  darkened;  while  the  huge 
triangular  piers,  with  their  battlemented 
parapets,  are  freed  from  dark  shadows  and 
illumined  with  strong  sunshine.  We  see 
the  bridge  from  below  and  foreshortened 
by  sharp  perspective,  with  men   at   work, 

114 


and  certain  details  enable  us  to  see  how  the  arches  were  constructed. 
For  example,  each  embattled  pier  has  a  transverse  bay  or  passage  on 
a  level  with  the  springing  of  every  arch.  Below  this  bay  are  three 
holes,  and  another  row  of  holes  runs  across  the  arch's  under  surface 
beneath  the  springing.  It  was  with  the  help  of  these  bays  and  holes 
that  simple  and  effective  scaffolds  were  put  up  by  thirteenth-century 
builders.  For  saplings  were  thrust  through  the  holes  till  they  jutted 
outside  the  piers;  then  they  were  covered  with  planks  and  used  as 
platforms  by  workmen,  and  also  as  resting-places  for  barrow-loads  of 
dressed  stone,  which  were  lifted  up  by  movable  cranes.  Masons 
were  served  through  the  bay,  and  the  centering  or  scaffold  ot  an 
arch  started  out  from  those  other  holes  that  Brangwyn  has  noted  in 
his  etching. 

Good  as  this  etching  is,  it  is  not  better  than  "Le  Pont  Neuf,  Paris," 
an  august  proof;  nor  is  it  so  well  known  as  Brangwyn's  vision  or 
"The  Bridge  of  Sighs"  (No.  i  8  i,  17I"  by  271"),  an  etching  already  so 
scarce  that  its  price  has  risen  to  seventy  guineas,  if  not  higher.  As 
an  interpretation  of  architecture — not  surface  architecture,  but  the 
inner  essence  and  the  life  of  that  petrified  music  which  architecture 
either  sings  or  orchestrates  with  varied  charm — this  print,  with  its 
two  bridges  and  its  Renaissance  palace  and  surroundings,  is  one  ot 
the  finer  achievements  by  which  Brangwyn  has  been  placed  among 
a  few  unique  etchers — -men  who  stand  apart  from  one  another,  each 
with  a  great  style  all  his  own,  which  every  student  ought  to  study, 
but  which  no  student  ought  to  copy,  though  study  may  lead  to 
unstinted  enthusiasm.  According  to  some  writers,  "  The  Bridge  ot 
Sighs"  does  not  represent  its  etcher  typi- 
cally ;  but  variation  from  a  type  is  as 
invaluable  as  auto-imitation  is  harmful. 
The  most  recent  bridges  in  Brangwyn's 
etched  work,  apart  from  those  at  Albi  and 
Espalion  and  "  Le  Pont  Neuf,"  are  "  Le 
Pont  Marie,  Paris,"  a  very  desirable  print ; 
and  the  sunny,  gracious  Toledo,  shimmer- 
ing through  a  haze  of  heat  that  makes 
it  look  almost  unsubstantial.  A  great  ad- 
vance separates  these  achievements  from 
the  first  version  of  London  Bridge,  and 
also  from  the  second.  "  Le  Pont  Neuf," 
I   confess,    has   put    me   somewhat   out   of 

1 1 


friends  with  Meryon's  etching  oF  the  same  hridge:  Both  artists 
identify  themselves  with  the  architecture,  pictorial  architecture, 
not  noble  enough  for  a  citizen  bridge  ;  but  Brangwyn  gives  much 
more  of  its  weight,  and  his  broad  symphony  of  light  and  shade 
has  orchestral  notes  and  tones,  with  glimpses  of  popular  life. 


ii6 


CHAPTER  VIII    ETCHINGS:  BARGES,  BOATS  &  HULKS 

s  it  a  pity  that  Brangwyn  has 
not  yet  done  a  few  typical  marine 
etchings?  He  remembers  what 
he  learnt  about  the  open  sea, 
and  tides  and  storms  teem  with 
those  attributes  of  power  and  splendour  by  which  his  genius  has 
always  been  fascinated.  Some  of  his  early  sea  pictures,  translated 
into  etching,  would  put  an  uncommon  patriotism  into  our  national 
prints,  while  renewing  an  admirable  period  in  his  enterprise. 
And  another  matter  is  worth  consideration.  Now  and  then  a  very 
rapid  artist  should  seek  an  influence  strong  enough  to  be  as  a  master 
to  him,  and  the  martinet  sea  keeps  all  men  under  discipline.  There 
are  times  when  Brangwyn  forgets  that  powerful  etchers,  like  wise 
rulers,  must  blend  their  vigour  with  persuasive  tact.  Ot  course,  I 
am  not  thinking  of  his  finer  or  greater  etchings,  wherein,  as  Emile 
Verhaeren  said,  an  epic  grandeur  puts  virility  in  its  rightful  place — 
the  first.  But,  in  a  big  man's  life,  the  finer  or  greater  etchings  are 
never  a  great  many.  Legros  told  me,  and  allowed  me  to  print  his 
words,  that  quite  two-thirds  of  his  own  etched  work  should  be 
destroyed,  as  minor  prints  followed  the  major  as  persistent  foes;  but 
this  self-criticism  goes  much  too  far — a  great  truth  is  overstated. 
Consider  also  the  authentic  prints  even  of  Rembrandt's  long  record 
as  an  etcher,  from  1629  to  1661  ;  they  number  only  260,  not  by 
any  means  all  of  equal  merit,  and  Brangwyn  has  etched  in  about 
half  the  time,  almost  the  same  number.  No  prolific  etcher  can 
keep  watch  with  too  much  care  over  his  minor  prints,  seeking  tor 
those  that  may  do  harm  to  his  best  achievements;  and  because  some 
chosen  land  motifs  give  inadequate  scope  to  Brangwyn's  energy,  an 
occasional  return  to  his  marines  would  benefit  his  etching — and  our 
patriotism  also. 

Though  England  has  ever  been  our  Lady  of  the  Sea,  British  art  has 
in  it  not  much  ocean,  marine  painters  being  few  and  far  between. 
The  sea  is  able  to  defeat  most  observation  and  technique,  while  land- 
scape and  portraiture  are  often  kind  towards  even  second-rate  men. 
To  summon  the  sea  into  etching  is  even  more  difficult  than  to  paint 
some  of  her  marvels.  Even  Meryon,  a  retired  naval  officer,  who 
had    visited    many    far-off    shores,    sailing    round    the    world,    and 

117 


sketching  day  after  day  in  his  leisure  hours  ;  even  this  true  sailor 
among  artists  of  original  genius  etched  no  devouring  waves. 
If  Brangwyn  tried  as  an  etcher  to  collect  visions  of  the  open  sea  he 
v^rould  succeed,  perhaps  with  the  aid  of  aquatint,  or  with  that  of 
mezzotint ;  and  I  am  hoping  that  he  will  win  some  victories  for  us 
in  blue  water  and  among  ocean  tempests.  Meantime,  in  a  good  many 
proofs,  he  has  been  a  sailor  ashore,  revealing  his  fondness  for  barges, 
gondolas,  boats,  and  his  austere  affection  for  big  ships  which  human 
breakers  destroy  on  shore. 

Barges,  as  we  have  seen,  appear  among  his  earliest  etchings,  and  their 
long  and  even  lines,  with  their  flat,  low-lying  shapes,  foil  that  ascen- 
sion— a  soaring  movement  and  rhythm — that  Brangwyn  delights  to 
make  real;  as  in  "Barge-Builders,  Brentford"  (No.  20,  13!"  by  13I", 
1904),  where  several  trees  in  a  group  occupy  so  much  space  that 
their  massed  foliage  seems  like  a  protector  watching  over  the  barge- 
building.  To  produce  this  effect  the  etcher  used  aquatint,  and 
students  will  note  two  moods  and  two  methods,  aquatint  portions, 
with  their  ample  breadth,  contradicting  much  neat  pointwork  in 
several  houses  beyond  the  river.  Such  contradictions  are  most  valu- 
able when  we  study  an  artist's  manner  and  his  temperamental  bias 
and  power. 

In  "Barges,  Bruges"  (No.  60,  15"  by  14",  1906),  mood  and  manner 
are  in  easy  unison,  and  produce  some  notes  of  that  resonant  dark 
colour  which  is  often  to  Brangwyn's  orchestration  what  the  deepest 
notes  are  to  bass  and  baritone  singers.  Barges  are  important  in  two 
other  studies  done  at  Bruges,  both  of  delightful  tone,  where  a  pictur- 
esque brewery  is  sketched  with  a  sportive  touch  and  mystery.  The 
larger  print  (No.  66,  i8|"  by  20|")  could  not  well  be  bettered.  All 
seems  to  have  come  at  once,  to  have  grown  out  of  the  zinc  plate,  and 
as  inevitably  as  patterns  and  colours  come  into  the  new  plumage  of 
moulting  birds.  The  smaller  plate  is  an  etching  on  copper,  eight  by 
ten  inches ;  a  barge  lies  across  the  foreground,  and  I  know  not  why 
so  much  attention  is  invited  to  a  blank  wall  across  the  canal,  with  a 
tone  about  as  light  as  the  water's. 

"The  Boatyard,  Venice,"  sometimes  called  "Boatbuilders,  Venice" 
(No.  112,  25I-"  by  20I",  1907),  is  among  the  fine  Brangwyns,  and 
some  portions  of  it — above  all  some  shuttered  houses  behind,  with 
their  weathered  age  and  fluttering  clothes  drying  outside  inquisitive 
windows — belong  to  the  finer  Brangwyns.  A  gondola  is  being  built ; 
litter  of  many  sorts  lies  around  her;  and  sunlight  on  a  hot  day  pours 

118 


upon  the  houses  and  here  and  there  into  the  yard,  where  men  work  as 
mildly  as  they  can  or  dare.  A  shady  and  shadowed  foreground, 
splashed  musically  with  sunlight,  is  composed  with  facile  knowledge, 
right  accents  distributed  ably,  and  a  discreet  rhythm  putting  order 
into  scattered  timber  and  other  oddments.  It  is  an  etching  to  live 
with  as  a  daily  chum. 

There  is  a  print  called  "Barges  at  Nieuport,"  an  etching  on  copper  and 
small  in  size  (7!"  by  4"),  that  attracts  me  always  as  a  cheerful  sketch. 
Its  pleasant  sedgy  river,  with  a  cornfield  and  hinted  trees  beyond,  is 
a  fortunate  impression ;  and  its  old  barges  are  old,  their  timber  looks 
worn  and  aged,  and  I  think  of  those  adept  pencil  drawings  by  William 
Twopeny  that  give  the  age  of  so  many  historic  things,  from  a  twelfth- 
century  house  to  Gothic  ironwork.  In  the  middle  distance  a  woman 
stands  on  a  small  peninsula,  keeping  her  place  and  plane;  and  I  note 
this  point  because  in  four  or  five  good  wayside  jottings  there  are 
figures  that  look  too  outlined.  Examples:  "Old  Houses  at  Dix- 
muden"  (No.  121,  7I"  by  6",  1908),  and  a  "A  Water  Carrier"  (No. 
130,  9"  by  7"),  another  print  with  a  barge  in  its  design. 
A  few  etchings  have  very  important  names,  though  the  subjects  that 
these  names  ask  us  to  see,  are  almost  hidden  by  boats  or  barges. 
This  joke  has  been  noted  by  many  writers.  Frank  Newbolt  says, 
for  instance:  "'The  Porte  St.  Croix  at  Bruges,'  that  massive  struc- 
ture of  town  defence,  is  dwarfed  by  enormous  barges";  and  Henri 
Marcel  is  struck  by  the  "Santa  Maria  della  Salute"  (No.  118),  seen 
behind  the  masts  and  rigging  of  tall  ships  fastened  to  groups  of  piles. 
On  our  right  a  medley  of  picturesque  anchors  and  cranes  makes  a 
complicated  framing  for  Santa  Maria,  whose  leaden  domes  stand  out 
rather  clearly  against  the  sky.  I  like  this  genre.  Not  only  does  it 
blend  architectural  motifs  with  sailoring  and  commercial  activities; 
it  suits  Brangwyn,  and  discovers  him  as  much  as  he  discovers  its 
charm  and  variety. 

And  now  we  turn  to  those  etchings  where  two  opposed  phases  of  in- 
dustrial work  are  revealed  with  poetry  and  unrivalled  power.  One 
phase  shows  how  great  ships  are  broken  up;  and  the  other  how  they 
are  built. 

Here  we  touch  the  subject  of  my  next  chapter,  Brangwyn's  attitude 
towards  Industry  and  Labour,  an  attitude  often  so  true  and  so  original 
at  its  best,  so  charmed  with  rival  qualities  rarely  found  united  in 
graphic  and  pictorial  art,  that  it  is  probably  the  most  varied  and 
most  modern  epic  of  sweat  and  toil  in  etching,  and  also  in  black 

119 


and  white.  But  it  is  an  attitude  that  appeals  differently  to  its 
devotees. 

Emil'e  Verhaeren  stood  outside  it,  fascinated,  awed  as  a  poet,  and  as 
a  poet  intimately  familiar  with  Constantin  Meunier,  Brangwyn's 
great  forerunner  as  an  impassioned  student  of  modernized  labour  and 
industry.  A  poet  is  often  apt  not  to  be  a  faithful  interpreter  because 
his  own  genius,  moved  by  the  work  it  studies,  begins  to  create ;  and 
Verhaeren  imagined  that  Brangwyn's  later  etchings  and  lithograph's 
of  industrialism,  while  revealing  the  whole  essence  of  contemporary 
toil,  contradict  the  most  impressive  thing  of  all  in  to-day's  business — 
the  domination  of  imperious  matter  and  machinery  over  the  striking 
classes.  In  Brangwyn's  earlier  enterprise,  we  are  told,  mankind 
appeared  to  be  of  the  lowest  and  compressed  together  in  heaps. 
"At  the  feet  of  disembowelled  ships,  of  haughty  ruins,  of  thundering 
factories,  men  formed  only  a  grouping  of  pigmies  at  work.  All 
domination  was  reserved  for  imperious  matter.  But  a  change  came 
as  soon  as  modern  workmen  interested  Frank  Brangwyn.  A  sort  of 
reversal  took  place  in  his  manner  of  conceiving  things.  Scale  and 
proportion  were  transformed,  and  man  now  rose  up  as  a  giant  in  the 
face  of  things.  His  gesture,  his  attitude,  his  bearing  acquired  a 
sudden  importance  and  reigned  over  the  entire  work.  Farmers, 
watermen,  sawyers,  bottle-washers,  navvies,  reapers,  became  to  the 
artist's  vision  as  monuments  of  force,  ardour,  violence  and  beauty." 
Here  is  Verhaeren's  Brangwyn,  but  is  it  Brangwyn's  Brangwyn, 
when  we  identify  ourselves  with  his  etchings  and  lithographs?  No, 
not  altogether.  Only  an  inferior  artist  would  be  so  unShakespearean 
as  to  belie  his  chosen  motifs,  to  rob  them  of  their  own  significance, 
instead  of  revealing  with  comprehensive  fervour  their  inner  essence 
and  their  outward  aspect,  drama,  and  allure.  It  is  because  Brangwyn, 
at  his  best,  is  comprehensive  towards  industrial  toil,  grime,  waste, 
conflict,  and  tragedy,  that  he  achieves  inspired  truthfulness,  with  that 
impersonal  and  penetrative  observation  out  of  which  all  masterpieces 
come  when  human  life  and  character  are  explored  by  artists  and 
authors. 

Verhaeren  forgot  that  many  a  statement  in  words,  which  looks  and 
sounds  very  well,  is  found  to  be  absurd  when  it  is  called  up  into 
pictorial  presence  before  a  studying  mind.  At  a  time  when  labourers 
and  artisans  are  becoming  menials  to  huge  machines,  mere  Gullivers 
in  a  Brobdingnag  of  portentous  mechanisms,  how  is  it  possible  for 
any  artist  to  show  that  modern  workmen  have  risen  up  as  giants  in 

1 20 


'THE     RKIUUN     KR6M  ■  WORK     IN     A    SHIPVARI). 
AKTER    ETC'HlNi;    \...  107.    ON    /IN(         Ii  il,',  in 


the  face  of  things  ?  Verhaeren  imagined  that  because  Brangwyn 
etched  a  group  of  tall  sawyers  on  a  large  plate,  in  a  bold  scale  and 
with  passion,  therefore  he  wished  to  show  that  sawyers  triumph 
over  their  toil  and  lot  ;  but  handsawyers  are  busy  on  a  job  that 
machines  do  much  better,  far  more  swiftly,  and  at  less  cost  ;  hence 
they  are  inferior  as  workers  to  machines.  They  have  gone  down  as 
workers  and  their  machines  have  gone  up  and  up.  So  their  pride 
of  craft — that  inestimable  boon  to  mankind  which  acts  as  healing 
cement  in  society — has  dwindled  and  con-tinues  to  dwindle,  not 
among  handsawyers  only,  but  also  among  nearly  all  manual  workers; 
only  an  artisan  here  and  there  is  a  true  handicraftsman  whom 
machines  cannot  displace  either  partly  or  entirely.  No  wonder  that 
the  lust  for  strikes  increases,  while  the  old  pride  of  craft  diminishes ; 
and  no  wonder  that  social  tendencies  everywhere  are  towards  dis- 
integration— empires  dissolving  into  separated  states,  and  nations 
into  noisy  factions  misled  by  fraudulent  catchwords.  For  pride  of 
craft  is  not  only  as  healing  cement  to  society,  it  is  also  a  self-esteem, 
so  just  and  necessary  that  it  puts  iniperishable  soul  into  human  toil. 
Even  genius,  that  inevitable  ruler  over  social  enterprise  as  over  all 
enduring  work,  after  inventing  and  perfecting  its  vast  industrial 
mechanisms,  is  often  ensnared  and  held  in  bondage  by  its  own 
achievements  and  their  intricate  ramifications ;  and  thus  we  have  all 
observed  since  19 14  that  not  even  patriotism  during  a  thousandfold 
tremendous  war  has  been  able  to  liberate  into  action  any  such  genius 
among  the  belligerent  nations  as  could  use  enormous  mechanisms  as 
a  great  chess  player  uses  each  of  his  pieces.  And  all  this  very  sinister 
and  tragic  history,  plucked  from  the  strife  of  machine-governed 
industrialism  and  from  War's  blood  and  valour,  is  the  motive  of 
Brangwyn's  unrivalled  attitude  as  an  artist — or,  in  plainer  words,  as 
a  man  of  genius  who  reveals  but  never  preaches — towards  mechanical 
Industry,  Labour,  and  Armed  Conflict. 

Though  he  never  preaches,  turning  his  best  work  from  a  revelation 
into  a  pulpit  and  a  social  sermon,  there  are  moments — not  frequent 
moments — when  he  gives  to  an  industrial  etching  or  a  lithograph 
a  depth  of  irony  or  satire  that  I  find  too  painful.  This  irony  or 
satire  appears  in  one  way  only  :  men  toiling  at  jobs  below  the  needs 
of  their  dignity  as  men  of  the  twentieth  century  a.d.  are  shown  in 
a  scale  too  vast  for  the  print  surface  around  them,  so  they  are 
brought  too  near  to  our  eyes  as  by  a  magnifying-lens.  In  "  The 
Tow-Rope,"  for  example,  a  most  poignant  etching,  as  true  as  great 

R  121 


sorrow,  the  five  poor  wastrels  harnessed  to  a  barge  unseen  occupy 
so  much  of  the  print  that  a  background  of  great  old  houses  has  to 
be  guessed  almost.  It  does  not  matter  when  six  platelayers  are 
epitomised  in  this  magnifying  scale,  because,  although  many  machines 
do  far  more  wonderful  work  than  platelayers  do  automatically,  there 
is  nothing  too  hurtful  to  human  dignity  in  their  position  as  labourers 
toiling  for  a  railway.  They  cannot  take  rank  with  those  village 
craftsmen  who,  without  help  from  architects,  dappled  England  with 
those  fine  cottages  and  farm  buildings  which  architects  ot  to-day 
study,  and  which  are  different  in  most  counties  ;  but  they  are  not 
industrialised  by  tyrannous  machines  into  evident  outcasts  from 
mankind's  improvement.  It  is  by  brains  and  character  that  ordinary 
men  must  be  weighed  in  the  scale  of  progress. 

Emile  Verhaeren  misread  the  significance  of  this  ironic  scale,  just  as 
Victor  Hugo  misread  Fran9ois  Millet's  "  Semeur."     Greatly  stirred 
by    this    emphatic    sower,    Hugo    said    that    the    peasant's    gesture 
"  voudrait  s'etendre  jusquaux  etoiles  " — wished  to  reach  as  far  as  the 
stars  ;  but  ideas  fit  for  an  ode  by  Hugo  are  not  ideas  inevitably  fit 
for  a  picture.      Millet's  peasant  has  no  wish  to  be  astronomical  :  his 
gesture  has  the  monotone  of  a  tiring  job,  and  seed  falls  close  by  his 
feet,  where  furrows  gape  for  its  coming.     Still,  Verhaeren   wrote 
nobly  about  several  aspects  of  Brangwyn's  genius;  above  all  when 
he  rebuked  those  artists  and  writers  who  think  that  a  hesitating  and 
frigid  examination  is  all  that  they  need  give  to  Brangwyn's  etched 
work,  as  if  to  put  out  its  fire  with  their  frost  and  ice. 
And   Verhaeren    was    right    to   warn   his   readers   that   Brangwyn's 
etching  at  a  first  glance  astounds  more  often  than  it  reassures,  its 
artist  being  among  those  who  capture,  not  among  those  who  beguile 
or  employ  a  seductive  vogue.     To  all  who  know  not  the  industrial 
phases  through  which  Brangwyn  has  developed  his  way,  etchings  of 
barges,  boats,  hulks,  and  shipbuilding  are  invaluable  as  an  apprentice- 
ship.     Not   only   are   they  less   imperious  than  many  others,  they 
appeal  also  to  the  waterman   in  our  national  character;   and  thus 
they  help  new  students  to  understand  that  kindred  enthusiasm  alone 
is  able  to  discover  in  an  original  artist  his  cardinal  merits. 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  withheld  much  of  this  sympathy  from  even 
Rembrandt  and  Poussin,  declaring  that  they,  in  their  composition 
and  management  of  light  and  shade,  "run  into  contrary  extremes,  and 
that  it  is  difficult  to  determine  which  is  the  more  reprehensible,  both 
being  equally  distant  from  the  demands  of  Nature  and  the  purposes 


122 


of  art."  And  another  Academician,  Opie,  spoke  of  Rembrandt  as 
"foremost  among  those  who  in  the  opinion  of  some  critics  cut  the 
knot  instead  of  untying  it,  and  burglariously  enter  the  temple  of 
Fame  by  the  window."  How  silly  it  is  thus  to  be  a  fool  towards  the 
great!  In  January,  191 2,  when  about  eighty  Brangwyn  etchings 
were  exhibited  in  Paris  by  the  French  Government,  Verhaeren 
noticed  that  the  work  prevented  critics  from  employing  their  stock 
phrases.  "Quelques  uns  se  sont  tus,  d'autres  ont  approuve  banale- 
ment.  Aucun  n'a  hausse  le  ton  comme  il  le  fallait.  On  a  employe 
les  flutes  et  les  clarinettes,  mais  les  orgues  n'ont  point  chante. 
Or  ce  sont  elles  qu'on  eut  aime  entendre.  .  .  .  Meme  les  artistes  ne 
se  sont  point  emus;  ils  n'ont  point  compris  la  \tgon  apre  et  ferme 
qu'on  leur  donnait."*  True,  many  an  artist  has  no  wish  to  under- 
stand the  sharp  and  steady  lesson  that  Brangwyn's  finer  etchings 
plainly  teach. 

"Building  a  Ship"  (No.  195,  3  5^"  by  27^")  is  an  etching  that  appeals — 
or  should  appeal — to  everyone.  The  gigantic  skeleton  and  its  upright 
scaffolding  are  made  real  with  consummate  ease,  and  surrounded  with 
an  atmosphere  that  beats  and  throbs  with  multiform  labour.  A  storm 
grows  up  from  behind  some  distant  factories,  but  there's  sun  enough 
to  multiply  the  skeleton's  huge  ribs  with  some  shadows  thrown 
by  upright  and  slanting  props.  How  minute  are  the  men  at  work 
high  up  on  this  tremendous  vessel !  In  the  foreground  some  men  in  a 
line  toil  rhythmically,  strapping  fellows  with  characters  that  mark 
their  attitudes,  and  they  are  but  pigmies  beside  this  embryo  liner, 
which  already  has  weight  and  power  enough  to  ride  out  a  storm  on 
land  without  much  peril.  This  etching  was  evoked  in  19 12,  and  I 
like  to  compare  it  with  an  earlier  one,  "A  Shipbuilding  Yard" 
(No.  26,  1904,  23!"  by  lyf"),  showing  a  stern  fight  between  our 
artist  and  his  materials.  The  plate  was  rebitten  again  and  again, 
then  scraped,  then  burnished,  and  so  forth,  until  it  had  seen  three 
states,  apart  from  some  trial  impressions.  Its  published  state  has 
dour,  robust  qualities;  it  is  a  battle  fought  to  a  fine  stalemate,  while 
the  later  etching  is  a  battle  won  with  ease,  like  a  quite  recent  plate, 
"Building  a  New  Bridge  at  Montauban." 

*  "  Some  held  their  tongues,  others  approved  lukewarmly.  Not  one  pitched  his  tone 
high  enough.  Flutes  were  employed  and  clarinets,  but  no  organs  sang,  though  it  was 
they  that  one  wished  to  hear.  .  .  .  Even  artists  were  not  at  all  moved  ;  they  had  no 
inkling  of  the  lesson  sharp  and  steady  that  was  given  to  them." 

123 


As  for  the  demolition  of  great  ships,  it  is  well  for  students  to  study 
these  etchings  chronologically : 

1.  Breaking-up  H.M.S.  "Hannibal,"  a  wooden  screw-ship  of  the  line, 
built  in  1854,  with  only  450  horse-power  engines.  In  1905  she 
was  torn  into  fragments  at  Charlton,  Woolwich,  and  Brangwyn's 
etching  shows  her  completely  stranded  in  Castles'  shipyard,  with  a 
heavy  list,  and  tiny  men  at  work,  around  her  body.  The  hulk  is 
brought  too  close  to  my  eyes,  occupying  so  much  of  a  large  plate 
(24J"  by  19^")  that  I  cannot  see  her  poetry  because  I  see  overmuch 
of  her  bulk.  In  1838,  when  Turner  painted  "The  Fighting 
'  Temeraire '  towed  to  her  Last  Berth  to  be  broken  up,"  he  was 
governed  by  that  enchanted  modesty  which  places  the  elements  of 
poetry  in  their  right  places  and  in  their  proper  scale.  "The  Teme- 
raire" and  her  paddle-wheel  tug  are  surrounded  by  a  great  seascape 
and  a  visiting  sunset,  yet  they  are  all  the  world  to  anyone  who  loves 
our  Navy  and  the  sea  as  Turner  loved  them.  As  a  big  study  full  of 
apt  concentration,  Brangwyn's  "Hannibal"  is  very  good;  but  yet  .  .  . 
It  seems  to  me  that  he  ought  to  have  achieved  more  because  his 
emotion  was  all  of  a  piece  with  Turner's. 

2.  Breaking-up  the  "Caledonia,"  formerly  H.M.S.  "Impregnable," 
built  at  Chatham  between  1802  and  18 10.  In  1816  this  old  battleship 
helped  to  bombard  Algiers,  receiving  no  fewer  than  three  hundred 
shots,  and  some  of  these  shots  were  found  in  her  when  she  was 
pulled  to  pieces.  The  etching  was  made  in  1906;  it  measures  3 if" 
by  2ij".  Here  is  a  composition  with  four  horizontal  planes.  In 
its  foreground,  running  from  our  right  across  more  than  half  the 
plate,  are  some  floating  jetties.  Beyond,  in  the  middle  distance,  is 
a  merchantman  used  as  a  jetty  alongside  the  battleship ;  and  towering 
above  the  greater  part  of  this  merchantman  is  the  "Caledonia"  glow- 
ing with  sunlight.  Then  on  our  right,  past  the  battleship's  bow,  is 
another  plane,  a  distant  view  of  smoking  factories  with  the  murk 
that  London  often  gathers  to  herself.  It  is  an  etching  full  of  light, 
bravely  composed,  with  fine  textures  and  a  lofty  sentiment. 

3.  Breaking-up  "The  'Duncan,'"  etched  in  1912  on  a  zinc  plate  32!" 
by  211". 

Here  is  another  battleship,  but  of  later  date;  she  was  commissioned 
for  the  first  time  on  All  Fools'  Day  of  1 871,  becoming  flagship  at 

124 


Sheerness.  She  was  demolished  in  Castles'  Yard  at  Woolwich,  and 
Brangwyn  represents  her  in  flying  perspective  with  her  stern  towards 
us,  and  great  portholes  like  sorrowful  eyes  giving  an  uncanny  pathos 
to  this  derelict  of  our  sea  power.  The  upper  part  of  her  body  has 
gone,  and  upright  portions  of  the  skeleton  cut  out  against  a  London 
sky.  Huge  cranes  extend  towards  and  above  her,  and  there  is  dis- 
tance enough  to  keep  the  "Duncan"  from  being  tyrannously  big  in 
relation  to  the  print's  whole  surface.  Though  all  is  ample  and 
abundant,  the  plate  has  mystery  with  infinity.  A  feeling  for 
grandeur  is  present  everywhere,  except  in  those  poor  midgets  who 
toil  around  and  upon  the  ship,  undoing  what  other  poor  midgets 
put  together,  in  our  Brobdingnag  of  machines. 

4.  "Breaking-up  The  'Britannia'  "  is  among  the  most  recent  etchings, 
and  it  cannot  be  studied  enough.  No  words  of  mine  could  give  a  fair 
idea  of  its  fervent  and  seamanly  charm.  A  fine  impression  is  beautiful 
with  a  velvety  technique  in  which  vigour  and  weight  and  mystery 
compose  an  amalgam  of  good  fortune ;  and  the  mystery  here  extends 
to  a  warm  sky.  What  other  artist  has  done  similar  work  with  such 
grip,  such  penetration,  such  breadth  of  power  and  vision.? 
Pennell  is  equally  moved  by  industrialism,  only  his  touch  lacks  body 
and  weight,  he  reveals  seldom  the  essence  of  things.  A  little-known 
Frenchman  of  the  last  century,  Bonhomme,  painter  and  lithographer 
of  forges,  factories,  and  miners,  heralded  Brangwyn  like  Constantin 
Meunier ;  but  is  there  even  one  artist  whom  Brangwyn  resembles 
or  who  at  times  resembles  Brangwyn?  William  Ritter  believes, 
with  just  a  bit  of  reason,  that  Mehoffer  does,  here  and  there,  in  a 
drawing,  though  Brangwyn  na  rien  de  harhare  ou  de  tartare  comme  Me- 
hoffer. Verhaeren  believed  that  Brangwyn  had  chosen  Rembrandt  for 
his  aesthetic  guide  and  his  spiritual  masten  "One  cannot  remember 
the  one  without  considering  the  other,  as  one  cannot  remember 
Delacroix  without  thinking  of  Rubens  or  of  Rubens  without  think- 
ing of  Veronese."  Yet  there  is  not  rrtuch  resemblance  between 
Brangwyn  and  Rembrandt.  Both  feel  the  Gospel  story  as  their 
contemporary  among  humble  folk,  and  both  are  often  drawn  towards 
ugly  faces.  Rembrandt's  cardinal  marks  are  brooding  concentration, 
wondrous  patience  and  pathos,  and  a  divination  as  gracious  as  that 
which  mothers  feel  and  show.  In  some  moods  Brangwyn  is  near  to 
Peter  Breughel,  while  in  others  he  is  much  nearer  to  Rubens  than 
to   Rembrandt,  for  both  achieve  without  long  concentration,  with 

125 


prodigious  energy  and  speed,  and  a  passion  for  sumptuous  colour.  If 
Brangwyn  tried  to  etch  with  minute  breadth,  as  Rembrandt  needled 
in  the  labyrinthine  technique  of  his  "Three  Trees,"  he  would  feel 
like  an  athlete  caught  in  a  net  and  held  fast.  But  he  would  paint 
with  zest  such  a  picture  as  "A  Boar-Hunt"  by  Rubens. 


126 


CHAPTER  IX      ETCHING:   INDUSTRY  &  LABOUR 


t 


Illy  a  few  F.  B.  etchings  arc  uii- 
associated  with  industrial  enter- 
prise or  with  laviepopuldire;  but 
I  have  now  to  speak  of  those  that 
depict  individualworkmen  at  their 
jobs,  just  as  an  artist  of  the  fourteenth  century  illustrated  "The 
Romance  of  Alexander"  with  cooks  and  cooking,  smiths  and  forging, 
bakers  at  their  work,  chariots  and  their  drivers,  mills  and  millers 
also,  and  many  popular  amusements,  from  tumblers  and  jugglers  to 
performing  bears  and  apes.  Tanners  and  barkstrippers,  as  we  have 
seen  (pp.  80,  82),  appeared  in  apprentice  etchings  (No.  6  and  No.  8), 
and  barge-builders  also  (No.  20),  like  shipbuilders  (No.  26);  but 
here  is  a  perspective  of  brickmakers  hard  at  work  near  their  low 
sheds.  They  handle  their  bricks  cleverly,  and  stooping  all  day  long 
has  produced  over-developed  muscles  across  their  shoulders.  It  is  a 
large  etching  (No.  38,  22f"  by  igf"),  and  attacked  with  almost  as 
much  energy  as  Michelangelo  poured  forth  when  he  chipped  marble. 
Weighty  things  rest  on  weighty  earth  ;  and  every  man's  clothes 
hang  in  those  stiff  folds  into  which  rough  materials  settle  when  they 
are  often  splashed  with  wet  mud  or  clay,  and  frequently  drenched 
with  rain  and  sweat.  One  man  looks  over  his  shoulder,  but  his  face 
holds  me  less  than  his  posture,  with  its  physical  character  and  vigour. 
Textures  of  many  sorts  add  variety  to  swift  and  sure  workmanship ; 
and  here  and  there,  as  under  those  low  roofs,  deep  cross-hatching 
nets  enough  air  and  light  to  keep  the  darks  from  looking  shut  up 
and  solid.  How  different  in  mood  and  manner  is  an  etching  called 
"Scaffolding  at  South  Kensington!"  It  is  a  small  print,  not  more 
than  five  inches  by  seven;  and  though  one  cannot  put  it  among  the 
finer  Brangwyns,  it  has  the  charm  of  a  rapid  sketch,  fresh  and  free, 
with  a  decision  tempered  by  delicacy. 

Brangwyn  is  a  master  ot  scaffolding.  To  me  his  effects  are  better 
even  than  those  of  another  master,  Muirhead  Bone,  who  is  equally 
alert  and  wide-awake  to  the  elusive  architecture  that  tall  and  intricate 
scaffolds  imply,  and  whose  style  is  vivacious  and  meditative,  if  some- 
what matter-of-fact.  When  Brangwyn  shows  how  a  bridge  is  built 
at  Montauban,  etching  on  a  large  plate  direct  from  Nature  (No.  221), 

127 


or  how  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum  looked  in  its  embryonic 
stage,  all  the  matter-of-fact  goes  up  with  huge  scaffolds  into  rough 
poetry,  and  stress  and  strain  of  building  enterprise  are  present  with 
their  weight  and  energy,  their  toilers  and  their  mechanisms. 
And  now  we  arrive  at  a  deeply  serious  and  meditated  work,  "A  Coal 
Mine "  (No.  59,  1 9"  by  24I,").  There  has  been  an  explosion  and 
colliers  in  two  groups — one  in  shade,  and  one  in  vivid  light — are 
bearing  away  a  wounded  comrade.  Two  tree-trunks,  upright,  tall  and 
boldly  modelled,  grow  between  us  and  a  fine  pithead,  one  part  of 
which  rises  like  scaffolding  around  a  tower.  Smoke  in  soft  waves 
resembling  shredded  tow,  as  if  from  huge  torches,  curls  up  to  the 
pithead  and  licks  around  its  timber.  Behind  is  a  uniform  sky  with 
a  technique  that  does  not  appear  in  any  other  Brangwyn.  It  seems 
to  have  been  scratched  horizontally  with  a  fine  metal  comb,  then 
bitten  by  mild  acid ;  and  from  this  process  comes  a  monotone  sky 
that  looks  well  in  a  tragic  episode.  Everywhere  this  etching  is  con- 
templative, it  has  distinction,  like  Meunier's  "Colliers  waiting  to  go 
Below";  and  these  and  other  qualities  make  it  a  maturer  work  than 
"Some  Miners"  (No.  87),  a  rugged  study  etched  on  zinc  from  the  life. 
"Bottle- Washers  at  Bruges"  (No.  61)  is  one  of  those  Brangwyns 
with  coloured  high  lights ;  here  sunlight  comes  through  green  glass 
and  suffuses  a  greeny  tint  over  a  workman,  his  bottle  and  his  round 
tub.  The  effect  is  original  and  charming ;  it  enriches  with  a  diffused 
glow  the  chiaroscuro  and  gives  us  a  good  example  of  Brangwyn's  art 
as  a  printer.*  Henri  Marcel  says  very  well:  "It  is  not  alone  in 
a  line  more  or  less  soft  that  he  finds  expression,  and  not  alone  by 
careful  observation  of  his  acid  and  its  biting  that  he  graduates  his 
linear  appeal ;  these  things  are  merely  a  fraction  of  a  complete  pro- 
cess in  which  inks  and  their  preparation  and  printing  and  its  subtleties 
play  a  highly  important  part.  I  have  alluded  elsewhere  to  his 
method  of  getting  atmosphere  in  his  plates  by  employing  a  surface 
made  with  diluted  ink,  either  spread  or  wiped  off  to  make  an  effect 
that  he  desires.  Brangwyn  knows  very  well  to  what  extent  inequali- 
ties of  pressure  that  his  print  undergoes  are  able  to  give  unexpected 
aspects  and  peculiar  beauties  to  various  proofs.  Aided  by  this 
process,  and  also  by  diversely  tinted  papers,  he  produces  differences 
between  proof  and  proof,  which  endow  each  with  an  interest  and  a 

*  Like  a  good  many  of  the  large  plates,  these  "  Bottle-Washers  at  Bruges  "  were  etched 
on  the  spot,  direct  from  Nature.  In  this  case  the  spot  was  a  wine-faker's  place  of 
business. 

128 


■\IKN    IN    A    KAKI'.HOrSK    A  I      MUN  I  R  KT  1 1  .^^  !■;■  M  Kk. 
AF'TKK     ETCHINc;      N...     \::-J.     ON     /IN(,      '" 


le  IS  con- 


charm  of  deliberate  artistic 
intention,  making  it  almost 
as  valuable  as  an  original." 
True:  and  writers  have  reason 
to  be  uneasy.  They  cannot  see 
all  the  "varieii  proofs  from  each 
plate,  and  their  views  on  one 
impression  may  be  contradictca 
by  your  just  vieics  on  another* 
Here  is  a  light  brown  print 
etched  out  of  doors,  very  long 
and  narrow  (No.  68,  20"  by 
6f"),  called  "The  End  of  a 
Day  at  Mortlake";  it  repre- 
sents, with  true  rusticity, 
some  farm  labourers  returning 
homeward,  with  filled  sacks 
behind  them,  some  heavy 
sacks,  while  two  are  light 
enough  to  be  easy  on  tired 
backs.  There's  a  capital  im- 
pression of  Hodge's  walking, 
the  plod-plod  of  peasants,  "a  '  CyTCTLiJ^/S/ 
series  of  different  movements  aJJ 
making  a  single,  half-limping, 
but  rhythmic  stride,  that  reveals  how  jaded  peasants  tramp  over 
ploughed  land.  Every  touch  is  free  and  swift,  negligently  wise,  so 
this  long  print  is  a  most  welcome  sketch.  Perhaps  a  low  horizon 
is  too  low,  and  I  wish  that  two  sacks  did  not  touch  the  plate's 
top-edge.  Just  a  bit  of  sky  above  all  the  sacks  would  enlarge  a 
happy  fortunate  design,  which,  with  but  little  change  in  its  group- 
ing, would  make  as  good  a  frieze  as  one  would  wish  to  see,  like 
F.  B.'s  lithograph  of  Arab  fruit-carriers. 
"A  Tanpit,  Bruges"  (No.  76),  also  etched   from   Nature,   is  a  very 

*  The  best  impressions  of  the  earlier  etchings  were  printed  by  Brangwyn  himself,  and 
everyone  who  has  seen  two  prints,  one  by  Brangwyn  and  one  by  an  ordinary  skilled 
printer,  must  have  been  struck  by  the  great  superiority  of  F.  B.'s  printing.  In  recent 
work  his  plates  are  usually  etched  for  an  ordinary  skilled  printer  who  has  a  right  feeling 
for  the  etcher's  guidance.  Often  a  light  undertone  is  put  on  the  metal  plate  with  acid 
and  in  a  manner  which,  I  believe,  no  other  etcher  used  until  Brangwyn  thought  of  it 
and  made  experiments. 

s  129 


'<^ 


rijjmimm 


muscular  sketch,  its  handling  nervous,  lean  and 
keen,  like  a  rough  Spanish  mule  well  seasoned 
by  long  journeys  through  dust  and  heat.  It 
shows  how  an  unpleasant  job  acts  variously  on 
the  bodies  of  three  tall  men,  rawboned  fellows, 
with  gristle  as  tough  as  whalebone,  and  muscles 
that  seem  to  be  proud  of  their  alertness.  Two 
of  these  men  with  long  poles  are  probing  for 
skins,  while  their  companion — a  long-bodied 
Fleming  with  a  small  waist,  powerful  shoulders 
and  arms  rather  misshapen  by  too  much  exercise 
— lifts  a  hide  from  the  vat.  So  exact  and  swift 
is  the  observation  that  we  may  dare  to  speak  of 
it  as  quite  medical ;  and  we  may  dare  also  to  add 
that  its  impression  of  generalized  truth  seems  to 
include  the  penetrative  reek  that  visitors  feel  in 
tanpits.  Under  Brangwyn's  hands  these  workmen  have  grown,  as 
usual,  and  one  fellow's  head  nearly  touches  a  big  plate's  top-edge. 
This  growth  comes  as  naturally  to  Brangwyn's  genius  as  upward 
growth  comes  to  plants  and  trees;  but  sometimes  it  troubles  good 
workmanship,  as  in  two  plates  of  "Skinscrapers"  (Nos.  79  and  80), 
both  etched  on  copper,  both  charmed  with  earnest  modelling,  and 
both  small,  but  abundant  in  weight  and  scale. 

Very  pleasant  are  the  soft  ripe  tone  and  earnest  workmanship  in 
two  certificates  etched  on  copper — one  a  certificate  for  the  Shipping 
Federation,  and  one  for  the  Master  Shipwrights'  Company.  These 
thoughtful  plates  are  foiled  by  another  big  plate  etched  from  Nature, 
"Bootmakers  at  Montreuil "  (No.  92,  21  J"  by  \']W  1907) — a 
vivacious  croquis,  true  to  rustic  manners.  One  bootmaker,  a  fat 
man,  seated  at  his  littered  bench,  works  methodically  almost  from 
dawn  to  dusk,  never  takes  any  exercise  out  of  doors,  and  comforts 
a  congenital  thirst  as  often  as  he  can.  He  lets  himself  be  shaved 
perhaps  twice  a  week,  for  a  chat  with  his  barber  enters  into  every 
week's  routine.  His  two  companions  are  not  so  well  characterized; 
perhaps  they  belong  more  to  F.  B.  than  to  Dame  Nature  in  France. 
A  witty  frieze  of  old  boots  above  the  men's  heads  comes  from 
humorous  observation.  But  my  favourite  etching  in  the  Montreuil 
series  of  working  life  is  "A  Paper  Mill  "  (No.  93),  admirably  studied 
at  first  hand,  with  a  complex  light  and  shade  that  could  not  well  be 
bettered.     A  golden  light  plays  in  upon  huge  grinding  stones  and 

130 


some  busy  workers,  who  keep  their  small  size  near 
big  machinery  and  under  great  beams.  Another 
good  print  is  "Men  in  a  Bakehouse,  Montreuil." 
As  for  "  The  Blacksmiths"  (No.  94),  a  big,  jolly, 
bouncing  sketch  from  the  life,  it  adds  nothing 
new  to  its  artist's  research  and  progress;  unlike 
No.  107,  where  a  throng  of  men  leave  a  London 
shipyard,  while  another  shift  continues  work 
on  great  scaffolding  behind.  Here  motif  and 
plate  are  large  together,  and  the  men's  faces  are 
thoughtfully  studied  without  detaching  them 
from  their  planes  in  the  mystery  of  a  crowd. 
Fine  as  this  etching  is,  it  lacks  certain  riper 
qualities  which  are  present  and  persuasive  in 
"Old  Hammersmith"  (No.  128) — qualities  in 
which  keen  vigour  accompanies  coaxing  re- 
search and  patient  and  elusive  tact,  while 
charming  us  with  a  magnificent  display  of  light,  shade  and  tone,  free 
from  assertive  accents.  Workmen  lounge  along  a  good  foreground 
and  in  open-air  shade;  others  are  busy  with  their  horses  in  a  sunny 
middle  distance;  and  behind  them  a  fine  old  house,  partly  shaded  by 
a  fan-shaped  tree,  is  transformed  into  a  factory,  now  beautifully 
aglow  with  sunlight.  All  is  excellent :  rude  where  rudeness  tells, 
delicate  where  delicacy  is  needed,  as  among  the  horses;  and  note 
also  how  happy  and  lofty  is  the  feeling  with  which  that  house  is 
understood.  And  the  tree  is  very  well  seen  and  felt,  and  the  sky  has 
lightness  and  mystery.  One  has  an  inkling  that  Brangwyn  not  only 
loved  but  feared  this  intricate  and  sunny  motif — feared  it  enough  to 
treat  it  with  tender  patience  and  respect,  lest  he  should  lose  it  in  a 
fiasco.  Can  he  return  too  often  to  this  technical  inspiration  ?  I 
think  not.  It  chastens  two  of  his  familiar  qualities — formidable 
dash  and  insistent  push — as  in  "Men  Rowing  on  a  Lighter"  (No.  73) 
and  "The  Sawyers"  (No.  43).  An  artist  multiplies  himself  by 
being  unlike  his  usual  appeal. 

"  Men  in  a  Bakehouse  at  Montreuil"  (No.  132)  comes  from  a  mood 
rather  similar  to  that  of  the  seductive  "Paper  Mill"  (p.  130);  and  here 
is  the  well-known  "  Sandshoot "  (No.  138),  rivalling  Whistler  in 
touch,  and  a  Brangwyn  through  and  through  in  weight  and  com- 
position, like  a  kindred  sketch,  "The  Ballisteria  at  Inchville  "  (No. 
141),  with  its  quaint  locomotive  and  its  puffing  machinery.      And 


what  of  ''Unloading  Bricks  at  Ghent  "  (No.  140)?  It  has  humour, 
atmosphere,  mystery,  with  vivacious  richness  ;  and  it  brings  us  in 
touch  again  with  a  technical  mood  reminiscent  of  "  Old  Hammer- 
smith." The  gray,  vague,  wise  old  church  behind  is  most  difficult 
and  delicate  for  an  etcher  to  suggest,  being  an  epitome  of  distant 
Gothic  veiled  by  sunny  haze.  Yet  Brangwyn  has  got  pretty  near 
to  a  perfect  rendering.  And  what  could  be  more  apt  than  this 
foreground,  with  workmen  on  different  levels  ?  I  am  not  sure  that 
they  look  like  Belgians,  these  men  of  Ghent ;  but  is  there  any 
conclusive  reason  why  they  should  .?  That  old  toper  in  a  tall  hat, 
bottle  and  glass  lovingly  clasped,  gets  rid  of  nationality ;  he  is 
cosmopolitan  enough  to  form  here  a  very  popular  thing — a  League 
of  Nations,  with  Falstaff  as  patron  saint. 

I  know  not  what  to  say  about  another  print,  an  uncommon  aquatint 
of  "Stevedores"  (No.  190).  Is  it  a  practical  joke  ?  Did  Brangwyn's 
humour  wish  to  be  more  than  current  with  the  passing  moments  of 
post-Impressionism  ?  However  this  may  be,  I  prefer  his  appealing 
mood  in  "Old  Roadsweepers  at  Hammersmith"  (No.  192),  a 
heartfelt  impression  from  our  streets.  Here  we  feel  the  tears  of 
things.  Some  slapdash  writers  have  said  that  Brangwyn  has  not 
felt  sorrow  as  poets  feel  it — as  an  atmosphere  surrounding  all  animate 
life,  and  needing  as  a  counterpoise  two  divine  things,  sunshine  and 
harmony  in  every  home.  These  "  Old  Roadsweepers  "  come  from 
the  heart  ;  their  sorrow  is  a  genuine  pathos  that  gives  alms  to  their 
loneliness,  and  I  am  almost  startled  by  the  contrast  between  them  and 
the  rough  electrical  energy  of  "Boatmen  Hauling  at  a  Rope"  (No.  'j'f). 
Let  us  pass  on  to  a  few  etchings  which  have  not  yet  been  catalogued, 
and  among  them  a  "Tannery  at  Parthenay"  (No.  202,  9}^"  by  yib-")' 
with  its  gray  wealth  of  tone  and  its  most  fortunate  sympathy  of 
touch  and  outlook.  An  etching  of  this  humble  size,  after  so  many 
which  are  either  big  or  bigger,  is  like  a  pleasant  fireside  chat  after 
much  public  speaking;  and  this  good  "Tannery"  has  several  good 
companion  prints,  all  uncatalogued,  and  all  done  in  France,  like 
"Wash-houses  at  Parthenay"  (No.  211,  9I"  by  11").  A  good 
English  motif,  and  a  good  Brangwyn,  is  the  "  Demolition  of  our 
General  Post  Office"  (No.  212),  a  large  plate,  nearly  31  inches  by 
26  inches.  It  is  good  enough  to  placate  the  ghost  of  poor  Sir  Robert 
Smirke,  who  built  the  G.P.O.,  as  well  as  the  British  Museum  and 
King's  College,  London.  Brangwyn  is  always  at  home  in  demoli- 
tions and  building  enterprises. 


132 


It  needs  rare  courage  thus  to  try  with  a  needle  on  metal  plates  to 
call  up  into  art  huge  impressions  from  modernized  mechanics  and 
lahour.  To  think  of  seeking  this  adventure  would  cause  most  other 
etchers  to  feel  uneasy,  if  not  ineffectual,  and  even  Brangwyn  here  and 
there  has  reacted  against  the  stress  and  strain,  not  feebly,  but  in  jaded 
spurts  like  those  that  good  soldiers  make  at  the  fag  end  of  a  long 
forced  march.  In  these  moods  he  may  outdo  his  usual  fondness  for 
extensive  plates,  and  he  did  so  when  he  chose  as  a  motif  his  "  Hop- 
pickers  inside  Cannon  Street  Station"  (No.  207).  In  this  work  his 
zinc  measures  not  less  than  37I"  by  25".  In  191 1,  when  he  etched 
Cannon  Street  Station  from  outside,  and  achieved  one  of  his  best 
works,  his  plate  was  a  necessary  tool,  though  it  measured  twenty- 
nine  inches  by  twenty-eight.  The  later  Cannon  Street  does  not 
attract  me,  though  some  parts  of  it  are  largely  handled  within  the 
scale  of  a  huge  improvisation. 

About  forty  years  ago  a  professional  Hercules  named  Gregory,  famed 
among  the  strongest  men  that  ever  lived,  told  my  father  that  one 
sorrow  had  been  present  always  in  his  prosperous  life  ;  he  was 
devoted  to  children,  yet  afraid  to  embrace  them,  as  he  knew  not  how 
powerful  his  love  would  be.  "  If  I  took  my  own  boys  and  girls 
into  my  arms,"  he  said,  "•  I  might  crush  them." 

Now  there  are  times  when  Brangwyn  reminds  me  just  a  little  of  this 
Hercules  ;  times  when  he  does  some  harm  to  his  art  by  pouring  into 
it  overmuch  energy- — overmuch  for  me,  though  I  like  to  make  my 
home  among  the  most  manly  artists  and  authors.  To  me  there's  an 
excess  of  energy  in  another  recent  plate,  a  work  of  imagination  sug- 
gested by  Nature,  yet  much  nearer  to  Darwin's  "  Descent  of  Man  " 
than  to  any  work  that  Brangwyn's  HH55 
variousness  has  produced  hitherto.  | 
It  is  called  "The  Swineherd"  (No. 
215,  151"  by  ii|"),  and  its  concep- 
tion is  as  aboriginal  as  it  is  original, 
almost  within  Caliban's  own  province. 
With  enough  meditation  it  would 
become  as  primitive  as  primitive 
man,  a  complete  revelation  of  bar- 
barism. Brangwyn  sees  the  whole 
thing  as  a  vision,  and  ravishes  what 
he  sees  into  a  great  suggestion  on 
metal,    where    he    leaves    it    to    be 


'33 


matured  later.  On  the  outskirts  of  a  neglected  glade  is  a  group 
of  three  stunted  trees  with  their  drooping  foliage ;  and  beyond  them 
we  see  the  glade  and  a  forest,  then  a  sky  as  dull  as  dried  leaves.  A 
fat  sow  with  her  litter  has  set  up  her  quarters  between  the  trees, 
leaning  with  obese  joy  against  one  of  their  trunks;  and  her  companion 
and  friend,  a  primeval  swineherd,  lounging  over  the  beast,  shoulders 
himself  against  the  same  tree,  while  nursing  a  small  pig.  Primitivity 
is  adumbrated  in  a  chaos  of  lines.  The  vision  is  not  as  a  living 
model  that  an  artist's  imagination  keeps  and  employs  with  ardent 
coolness,  as  Shakespeare's  rapid  genius — that  sweet  foe  of  haste,  and 
gracious  autocrat  over  form  and  style — retains  Caliban,  part  beast 
and  part  man. 

Gurth,  the  Saxon  Swineherd,  thrall  of  Cedric  and  Rotherwood,  in 
Scott's  "Ivanhoe,"  had  sav^age  forerunners.  Brangwyn  has  hit  the 
trail  of  one  ;  and  soon  he  will  follow  the  fellow  home  into  a  complete 
success. 

II 

Henry  James,  in  his  lecture  on  Balzac,  says :  "The  fault  of  the 
Artist  which  amounts  most  completely  to  a  failure  of  dignity  is  the 
absence  of  saturation  with  ideas.  When  saturation  fails,  no  other  real 
presence  avails,  as  when,  on  the  other  hand,  it  operates,  no  failure  of 
method  fatally  interferes."  A  profound  truth,  of  course,  but  could 
it  have  been  put  into  better  sentences.?  It  seems  to  me  that  writers 
should  hate  the  definite  article — "the  fault  of  the  Artist,"  for  in- 
stance— and  should  get  rid  of  it  by  thought  as  often  as  they  can ; 
and  is  "saturation"  a  good  choice  of  words?  Does  it  belong  to  fer- 
tility among  things  without  brain,  fields,  gardens  and  their  produce? 
What  intellectual  fertility'  needs,  I  believe,  is  a  mother-idea  that  fecun- 
dates, producing  other  ideas  that  increase  and  multiply,  until  an 
artist  is  governed  by  their  companionship.  A  mind  without  ideas 
of  its  own  is  barren,  though  its  memory  may  be  as  retentive  as 
Macaulay's ;  and  as  soon  as  original  ideas  do  impregnate  a  brain  as 
Millet's  was  impregnated  by  original  observation  out  of  doors  among 
peasants,  or  as  Brangwyn's  has  been  impregnated  by  his  original 
sympathy  for  hard-handed  men  of  every  sort,  productive  concepts 
and  enthusiasms,  if  genuine,  are  as  revelations,  and  no  failure  of 
method  will  be  fatal.  Blake  is  not  killed  by  his  nearly  complete 
ignorance  of  things  material,  for  example ;  and  though  the  temper  of 
antique  Egypt  is  in  complete  antagonism  with  the  human  spirit  of  our 

134 


own  modern  selves,  who  can  help  feeling  that  antique  Egypt  not  only 
lives  on  in  her  arts,  but  lives  on  also  as  with  the  might  and  majesty 
of  eternal  duration,  and  a  primal  grandeur  not  to  be  met  with  else- 
where ?  There  is  no  exodus  from  Egyptian  art. 
Only  we  must  remember  that  some  artists  meditate  continually  over 
their  original  observations  and  ideas,  while  others  pass  not  often  from 
emotion  into  the  long  concentration  out  of  which  ideas  in  a  sequence 
grow.  As  a  rule,  for  instance.  Millet  represents  long  meditation; 
and  Brangwyn,  as  a  rule,  swift  emotion  made  real  by  swift  workman- 
ship. I  have  said  elsewhere:*  "Millet,  by  nature,  was  a  man  of 
letters  as  well  as  a  painter.  Words  and  their  music  were  fascinations 
that  charmed  him  even  in  childhood;  and  throughout  his  life  he 
passed  a  great  deal  of  time  in  dreaming  over  his  ideas  and  impressions. 
Also,  and  this  point  is  equally  important,  his  self-criticisms  when  at 
work  were  not  feelings  akin  to  those  that  we  call  instincts  among 
animals;  they  were  verbal  directions,  clear-cut  and  definite,  and 
ready  to  be  spoken  to  a  pupil  like  Wheelwright,  or  written  to  his 
friend  Sensier.  Now  Brangwyn  differs  from  Millet  in  all  these 
points.  Impulse  governs  him.  His  emotions  are  very  strong,  often 
vehement,  and  he  loses  himself  entirely  during  his  creative  hours. 
Very  seldom  has  he  thought  it  worth  while  to  reply  to  his  detractors 
or  to  waste  his  inventive  energy  on  explanations  of  his  own  aims  and 
convictions.  He  expresses  himself  in  paint  or  in  etching,  and  if  you 
fail  to  understand  him  there  he  does  not  help  you  with  a  literary 
interpretation  of  his  purpose.  This  being  his  nature,  you  will  not 
find  in  a  Brangwyn  any  parade  ["presence,"  not  "parade,"  is  the  right 
word  here]  of  that  old  and  acquired  knowledge  that  gives  a  Grecian 
air  to  the  peasants  in  the  finest  etched  plates  by  Millet.  Jean 
Francois  was  himself  plus  several  others,  and  the  others  are  often 
quite  easy  to  recognize.  The  antique  swayed  his  mind,  so  did  those 
mesmeric  masters,  Mantegna  and  Michelangelo ;  and  of  these  in- 
fluences he  was  not  only  conscious,  but  conscious  also  in  that  literary 
fashion  that  takes  pride  in  the  making  of  sentences.  Seldom  did  he 
know  the  joy  that  Brangwyn  feels  when  a  subject  possesses  the  mind 
entirely  and  the  day's  work  is  like  a  pleasant  dream  with  a  happy 
awakening." 

Afterthought  persuades  me  that  this  analysis  requires  two  amend- 
ments ;  it  is  not  friendly  enough  either  to  Millet's  rural  and  rustic 
distinction    or    to    his    contemplative    qualities,    which    endow    his 

*   Scriener's  Magazine,  May,  1 9 1 1 . 


peasants  with  a  well-bred  friendliness  towards  ancient  soil,  and  it 
should  note  several  dangers  in  unpremeditated  art.  Let  us  suppose 
that  a  few  of  Brangwyn's  peasants  and  some  of  his  other  labourers 
had  been  brought  closer  than  they  are  to  the  Greek  passion  for 
nobleness  of  gesture  and  feature  with  inspired  line  and  rapt  model- 
ling. Would  their  appeal  as  art  from  Brangwyn  be  enriched,  or 
v/ould  it  be  enfeebled  ?  Modernists  turn  with  hatred  from  a  question 
of  this  decisive  kind,  forgetting  that  their  modernism,  if  it  is  to  be 
to  future  generations  what  the  antique  at  its  finest  is  to  us,  will  need 
from  age  to  age  qualities  that  have  staying  power  and  abiding 
persuasion.  For  genius  only  visits  our  to-day  ;  her  permanent  home 
is  a  perpetual  sequence  of  to-morrows.  And  what  part  of  human 
genius  endures  best  ?  Intellect  behind  and  in  aesthetic  emotion. 
More  than  one  of  Brangwyn's  loyal  adherents,  and  notably  Henri 
Marcel,  has  analysed  Brangwyn's  handling  of  important  human 
figures  in  lithographs  and  etched  work,  noting  that  his  sawyers, 
bricklayers,  dyers,  tanners,  miners,  sailors,  and  other  hard-handed 
men,  are  often  less  interesting,  because  less  intense  and  expressive, 
than  those  prints  where  inanimate  things  are  governed  by  vast 
natural  forces.  Though  it  is  right  and  necessary  always  to  reveal 
the  truth  that  most  workmen  of  to-day  are  more  or  less  enslaved  to 
machines,  there's  no  need  ever  to  make  this  truth  too  emphatic  by 
failing  to  endow  their  bodies  with  enough  form  and  their  faces  with 
enough  thought  and  speech.  Henri  Marcel  suggests  that  two  or 
three  occasional  defects  of  Brangwyn's  work  come  from  our  London 
climate,  which  he  argues,  makes  general  aspects  of  industrialism  more 
pictorial  than  individual  workers.  Even  in  summer,  he  says,  our 
city  often  puts  on  a  garb  of  darkness,  of  actual  night.  Very  often 
our  London  sky  "instead  of  constituting  the  clearest  light  value  in 
the  field  of  vision,  is  relegated  to  the  second  or  third  plane,  and 
becomes  a  strongly  contrasting  background  to  any  object  that  is 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  filtering  rays.  These  effects,  which 
would  seem  paradoxical  in  most  climates,  have  greatly  impressed 
Brangwyn  with  their  special  picturesque  qualities.  .  .  .  He  has 
devoted  himself  to  their  reproduction.   .   .   ." 

Though  our  London  climate  has  bad  whims  enough,  it  is  not  so  bad 
as  Henri  Marcel  declares,  and  esthetic  problems  belong  usuallv  to 
art's  spiritual  factors.  Those  occasional  parts  ot  Brangwyn's  work 
which  are  not  yet  so  mature  as  they  will  become,  set  me  thinking 
of  a  spiritual  thing,  the  very  unusual  education  through  v/hich  this 

I  36 


'COAL-MINE     AFTER     AN     E){:I' L.OSI  O  N. 
Al'TER  ETCHING  No.  :,'.'.  ON  ZINC.  Win.  x  241/:;  is-. 


great  artist  has  travelled,  ;. while 
(rrowine  trees  to  make  the  hi<rh 
ladder  hy  which  he  has  risen  above 
his  contemporaries.  Conflict  with 
life,  and  with  life  in  many  climes, 
was  his  university  and  his  art  school ; 
and  all  that  was  innate  in  his  passion 
for  art — his  delight  in  decoration 
his  intrepid  enterprise,  his  fondness  for  the  poor,  his  rapid  Jiand, 
his  unlimited  energy,  and  his  eagerness  to  collect  swift  impressions 
— all  this,  let  me  suggest,  was  intensified  by  his  wandering  studies, 
usually  remote  from  teachers,  and  plaster  casts  of  antique  figures,  life 
classes,  and  the  usual  routine  of  a  boy  artist's  apprenticeship. 
To  this  uncommon  education  he  owed  invaluable  qualities,  together 
with  two  or  three  defects ;  and  it  is  precisely  these  defects  that  he 
can  clear  away  during  the  next  period  of  his  enterprise.  For  he  is 
not  among  the  many  artists  who  have  ceased  to  grow  because  they 
have  ceased  to  respond  to  the  needs  of  enduring  work. 
Every  bias  having  its  own  perils,  a  bias  towards  pictorial  decoration 
requires  as  much  watching  as  any  other,  above  all  when  a  painter  is 
gifted  with  a  wondrous  facility  of  hand  that  produces  at  its  best 
unmatchably  rich  workmanship.  If  a  man  is  a  defective  colourist, 
like  Ingres,  or  if  he  paints  with  slow  brooding  pains,  like  Leonardo, 
he  is  obliged  to  ponder  much  and  often,  and  he  will  value  form  and 
intellectual  expression  much  more  than  he  values  paint  and  colour. 
Ingres,  almost  with  a  sneer,  described  colour  as  "  la  dame  d'atours 
de  la  peinture  "  (lady  of  the  bedchamber  to  the  art  of  painting), 
though  a  monochrome  world  would  be  a  perpetual  funeral.  It  is 
always  in  colours  that  the  world's  antiquity  smiles  into  youth 
renewed.  And  let  it  be  noted  also  that  as  a  draughtsman  by  right 
of  birth  is  attracted  by  line  and  what  line  can  express,  so  a  born 
painter  and  colourist  is  attracted  towards  brushes  and  what  brushes 
alone  can  express  to  perfection. 

No  one  desires,  then,  that  Brangwyn,  a  painter  through  and  through, 
and  the  most  ample  and  varied  of  all  British  colourists,  should  rate 
point  drawing  at  a  higher  level  than  paint  and  colour.  He  is  very 
fond  of  drawing  with  a  point,  of  course,  and  in  his  own  style  he 
shows  that  his  point-work  is  governed  by  his  inborn  passion  for 
colour  and  other  painterly  qualities.  Few  painters  equal  his  com- 
mand over  the  simpler  aspects  of  point-drawing,  but  he  can — and  no 
T  137 


doubt  he  will — do  more  than  he  has  done  as  a  revealer  of  mind  and 
of  what  I  may  call  sculptural  form  in  his  chosen  models.  No  doubt 
he  will,  because  no  true  artist  can  fail  to  see  that  sculptural  form, 
varied  and  wonderful,  is  evident  in  all  things  that  live  and  grow  and 
suffer  death.  Natural  angles,  the  antithesis  of  natural  fertility,  are 
produced  only  by  agents  of  destruction,  like  earthquakes  and 
lightning ;  it  is  always  curves  and  rounds,  charmed  with  rhythmic 
and  supple  modelling,  that  we  find  wherever  we  seek  for  Nature's 
reproduction  and  superabundant  growth.  So  it  is  not  only  in  Greek 
sculpture,  and  in  such  modern  work  as  Ingres  produced  at  his  best, 
that  we  come  upon  this  modelling.  We  see  it  also  even  in  blades 
of  grass. 

"  How  can  a  big  man  grow  bigger  if  he  has  no  big  faults  to 
correct  ?  "  Though  Brangwyn  has  a  few  defects,  like  every  other 
vital  and  progressive  worker,  all  industrial  aspects  of  his  finer  prints 
are  impregnated  both  with  present-day  lite  and  with  impassioned 
sincerity,  and  every  new  student  will  soon  make  friends  with  their 
general  spirit  if  he  will  approach  a  unique  art  in  a  proper  manner. 
Let  him  not  suppose,  as  a  good  many  writers  do  suppose,  that  a 
thing  sometimes  called  "  the  democratization  of  art "  has  a  lineage 
not  at  all  old,  perhaps  not  older  than  the  brothers  Le  Nain,  who 
worked  in  the  seventeenth  century.  An  art  is  unique,  not  because 
it  has  no  pedigree  through  human  life  in  all  past  ages,  but  because  it 
endows  such  a  lineage  immemorial  with  a  new  vision,  coming  from 
a  genius  unlike  other  geniuses;  and  thus  we  unite  ourselves  more 
closely  to  unique  art  when  we  seek  out  and  try  to  understand  its 
discoverable  forerunners,  just  as  a  student  of  to-day's  battleships  likes 
to  meditate  over  an  evolution  that  goes  back  without  a  break  to  the 
first  dug-outs  made  by  prehistoric  men. 

Tanagra  statuettes,  like  the  athletes  of  antique  sculpture,  prove  that 
ancient  Greeks  brought  popular  life  within  the  gamut  of  their  own 
a?stheticism ;  but  the  origin  of  this  artistic  factor  is  prehistoric, 
dating  from  those  Paleolithic  artists  who  represented  animals  that 
they  hunted,  one  fresco — it  is  at  Altamira — measuring  fourteen 
metres  long.  Near  Cogul,  a  village  of  Catalonia,  there  are  frescoes 
on  exposed  rocks.  In  one  a  red  man  is  shown  attacking  a  red  bison, 
while  another  has  a  group  of  ten  human  figures — nine  women  and 
a  man — arranged  in  a  row,  the  man  with  five  women  on  one  side 
and  four  on  the  other.  The  women's  bodies  are  narrow-waisted, 
with  skirts  reaching  to  their  knees  and  a  sort  of  mantle  over  their 


shoulders.  The  attitudes,  though  somewhat  chaotic,  suggest  a 
dance.*  Here  is  fresco  decoration  and  popular  life,  prehistoric  and 
post-Impressionist;  and  a  photograph  of  it  stirs  one's  imagination 
as  keenly  as  that  very  tragical  picture  by  the  eldest  Breughel,  where 
blind  peasants  lead  one  another,  and  where  we  see  in  pitiful  satire  a 
quite  modern  attitude  towards  the  logic  of  disaster  that  tiows  from 
tollies.  The  more  we  connect  Brangwyn  with  his  predecessors, 
both  near  to  our  own  day  and  marvellously  far  off  among  lost  ages, 
the  closer  we  shall  unite  him  and  ourselves  to  that  miracle  which  is 
always  at  work — evolution.  And  another  truth  to  be  remembered — 
a  truth,  too,  that  we  should  give  to  F.  B.  as  a  true  motto  for  his 
biography — comes  to  us  from  Robert  Browning  : — 

"  I  count  Life  just  the  stuff" 
To  try  the  soul's  strength  on,  educe  the  man. 
Who  keeps  one  end  in  view,  makes  all  things  serve." 

*  E.  A.  Parky n,  Prelusiork  Ari,"  p.  no. 


"39 


CHAPTER  X      ARCHITECTURE  IN   THE   BRANGWYN 
ETCHINGS 


[n  the  catalogue  of  F.B.'s  etched 
work,  the  first  motif  is  architec- 
tural ;  it  represents,  in  a  very 
careful  study  from  Nature,  some 
'old  timber  houses  at  Walbers- 
wick,  near  Southwold.  They  stand  on  stilts  out  of  reach  of  damp 
and  rats,  and  their  high-pitched  roofs,  with  gables  alert  and  sharp- 
angled,  are  lively  enough  to  put  good  spirits  into  a  rainy  day. 
There  is  nothing  more  typical  of  Young  England,  Gothic  and  Tudor 
England,  than  a  gabled  wooden  house,  whether  a  harlequin  dressed 
in  black  and  white,  a  magpie  house,  or  covered  modestly  all  over 
with  boards. 

Forrestial  England  bred  a  people  so  fond  of  timber  cabins,  huts, 
sheds  and  houses  that  neither  fires  nor  civic  rules  could  put  the 
passion  out  ot  vogue  where  woods  were  common  and  housebote  was 
a  customary  right  which  tenants  inherited.  Fire  after  fire  attacked 
London,  as  in  1135,  1161,  121 2,  1266,  and  frequent  decrees  were 
issued  against  wooden  buildings,  and  against  roofs  thatched  with 
straw,  reeds,  rushes,  and  other  litter  ;  but  English  character  at  its 
best  is  a  true  sportsman,  and  sportsmanship  is  conservative,  running 
risks  in  order  that  old  customs  and  pleasures  may  be  repeated  and 
renewed.  Mere  timber  cabins  and  sheds  could  be  kept,  more  or 
less,  under  municipal  control,  but  the  playfulness  of  half-timbering 
came  from  national  character,  and  here  and  there  it  passed  through 
generations  from  medieval  days  to  the  coming  of  our  factory 
system,  with  speculative  builders  to  jerryise  our  home  life  into 
perilous  housing  problems.  We  have  sold  cheap  what  is  most  dear — 
many  good  rustic  styles  of  honest  building,  such  as  F.B.  has  etched 
in  these  old  places  at  Walberswick,  now  destroyed,  and  in  a  timber 
watermill  at  Brentford,  also  cleared  away  as  old-fashioned. 
As  late  as  1850,  or  thereabouts,  the  history  of  English  houses,  with 
that  of  English  cottages,  from  the  twelfth  century,  could  be  seen 
and  studied  out  of  doors,  together  with  earlier  phases  of  building 
full  of  Anglo-Saxon  habits  and  customs,  while  our  charcoal-burner's 
cone-shaped  hut — still  extant,  luckily — had  and  has  a  simplicity  so 
primitive  that  its  origin  is  probably  prehistoric.     Yet  England  saw 

140 


not  her  good  fortune  in  having  so  much  domestic  history,  with  its 
pride  of  craft,  out  of  doors  and  plain  for  all  tolk  to  sec  and  easy  for 
all  folk  to  emulate.  To-day,  if  we  wish  to  get  in  touch  with  the 
same  history,  we  learn  how  dependent  we  are  becoming  on  ancient 
manuscripts,  elderly  pictures  and  engravings,  books,  and  the  topo- 
graphical drawings  made  between  1750  and  about  1H50 — made  by 
Sandby,  Hearne,  Turner,  Girtin,  Blore,  Nash,  and  a  great  many 
others,  above  all  by  William  Twopeny,  Boswell  ot  our  English  house 
and  its  many  styles.  Later  artists  also  have  rescued  many  a  cottage 
and  many  a  house,  just  as  public  museums  collect  examples  ot  good 


old  furniture,  and 
a  younger  England, 
find  in  useful  work 
as  welcome  as  games 
But,  of  course, 
when  their  craft- 
its  purpose  and 
loved  as  incentives 
be  outvied,  for  noble 
very  much  when 
flood  our  markets 
with  frauds.  Art 
jects  of  daily  use 
machine  -  made  ; 
of  workmanship  no 
fresh  and  fit  ideas 
It  is  true  to  say 
of  our  national  char- 
with  many  fine  old 


other  mementoes  of 
a  country  willing  to 
well  done  a  pleasure 
and  sports  were, 
young  old  things, 
manship  is  fit  for 
thorough,  are  to  be 
only,  as  models  to 
crafts  are  harmed 
crazes  tor  old  things 
with  copies  and 
is  dying  when  ob- 
are  copies,  mostly 
when  old  traditions 
longer  grow  into 
and  enterprises, 
that  precious  parts 
acter  have  gone 
traditions    of   well- 


EXLIJBMS.  ALICE 

doing  by  handicraft  shown  in  common  things  apt  for  incessant  use. 
Cottages  ought  to  be  as  enjoyable  as  are  the  Robin  Hood  ballads 
or  the  songs  of  Herrick,  and  they  used  to  be  so  in  many  places,  as 
extant  specimens  bear  witness.  That  we  are  below  our  ancestors, 
far  below  them  and  much  inferior,  is  a  fact  which  most  people  try 
to  hide  with  boastful  cant,  though  it  is  proved  beyond  all  doubt 
even  by  old  barns,  many  of  which  had  and  have  a  dignity  of 
workmanship,  a  true  and  a  great  design,  not  to  be  found  in  a 
great  many  modern  chapels  built  by  Nonconformists,  sometimes 
with  mean  thrift,  and  sometimes  with  shoddy  redundance.  As 
W.   R.   Lethaby  says:   "We  do   not   allow   shoddy   in   cricket   and 

141 


football,  but  reserve  it  for  serious  things  like  houses  and  books,  furni- 
ture and  funerals.  ...  It  is  a  tremendous  fact  that  whereas  a  century 
ago  or  so  the  great  mass  of  the  people  exercised  arts,  such  as  boot- 
making,  book-binding,  chair-making,  smithing,  and  the  rest,  now  a 
great  wedge  has  been  driven  in  between  the  craftsman  of  every  kind 
and  his  customers  by  the  method  of  large  production  by  machinery. 
'We  cannot  go  back'^ — true;  and  it  is  as  true  that  we  cannot  stay 
where  we  are." 

Let  me  ask  you,  then,  always  to  connect  with  our  present  lot,  our 
present  needs,  every  good  model  of  old  work  that  Brangwyn  has 
found  out  of  doors  and  turned  into  an  etching  or  a  painting.  Give 
help,  too,  as  much  as  you  can,  to  the  Design  and  Industries  Associa- 
tion, since  its  high  purpose,  like  that  of  the  Art  Workers'  Guild, 
is  to  convince  workmen  and  their  paymasters  that  the  joy  of  doing 
a  job  well  for  its  own  sake  and  use  ought  to  be  more  natural  to  man 
than  greed  or  than  fraud,  and  that  it  makes  good  design,  work  fit  for 
its  purpose,  comfortable  to  live  with  as  true  art. 

This  fact  the  Germans  have  understood  from  its  trade  and  social 
points  of  view ;  they  know  better  than  we  do  the  history  of  our  arts 
and  crafts  movement,  borrowing  from  it  all  that  they  need,  and  con- 
stituting the  arts  and  crafts  as  a  fruitful  branch  of  political  economy, 
supported  by  a  noble  Werkbund,  and  already  with  a  chair  in  one 
university.  It  was  they  who  turned  into  founts  of  type  an  English 
study  of  fine  lettering,  begun  by  Morris,  and  continued,  with  beauti- 
ful skill,  by  Edward  Johnston.  What  happened  then?  A  common- 
place. We  started  at  once  to  buy  German  founts  and  to  print  from 
them.*  Many  English  minds  have  had  fertile  ideas,  but  our  poor 
nation,  misruled  by  ordinary  minds,  has  been  too  cocky  and  too 
conventional  and  too  enslaved  by  party  politics  for  the  good  sense  of 
fertile  ideas  to  aid  her  to  be  either  wise  towards  herself  or  alert  in 
the  international  warfare  that  trade  competition  enforces  on  all 
countries.  It  is  only  under  military  and  naval  discipline  that  most 
Britons  are  thorough  without  much  disturbance  from  unrest,  strikes, 
and  scamped  workmanship.  They  need  what  they  hate — imperative 
discipline.  Centuries  of  ease  in  a  snug  little  island  have  been  very 
bad  for  their  foresight  and  their  self-denial,  their  workmanship  and 
their  future.    To  teach  our  country  to  value  once  more  the  honour  of 

*  In  March,  19I5>  under  the  auspices  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  an  exhibition  of  German 
industrial  art  was  held  at  the  Goldsmiths' Hall,  London;  it  showed  that  German  manu- 
facturers have  taken  a  pride  in  testing  brave  notions  and  in  doing  excellent  work. 

142 


good  work  always  fit  to  be  used  and  liked  is  a  very  pressing  need ;  it  is 
the  only  patriotism  that  surrounds  an  elderly  nation  with  a  safe  life- 
belt. Intellect-benumbing  cant  must  be  displaced  by  good  craftsman- 
ship. How  can  life  be  worth  living  when  work  is  not  liked  with  a 
just  pride?  How  can  a  nation  keep  away  from  revolutions  if  her 
people  lose  the  joy  with  which  every  job  should  be  done  well  for  its 
needful  use  and  its  proper  place?* 

Brangwyn's  fondness  for  old  and  elderly  relics  of  sound  craftsmanship 
is  a  passion,  as  everything  in  art  must  be,,  and  now  and  then  it  has 
made  his  touch  almost  hesitant,  if  not  even  timid,  and  therefore 
unlike  his  own.  The  old  timber  houses  at  Walberswick  are  etched 
on  a  plate  nearly  twelve  inches  square,  yet  the  technique  is  tighter 
and  more  thoughtful  than  it  is  in  "The  Old  Tree  at  Hammersmith" 
(No.  14),  a  plate  only  five  by  four  inches;  and  the  wooden  water- 
mill  at  Brentford  (No.  21),  just  twelve  inches  square,  has  qualities 
like  these  Walberswick  houses,  but  richer  in  tone  and  freer.  It 
seems  to  me  that  these  painstaking  moods,  incisive  and  precise, 
watchful  and  studious,  but  not  laboured,  are  among  the  most  note- 
worthy of  Brangwyn's  variations.  Not  only  are  they  found  always 
— or  usually — in  architectural  motifs,  as  in  "  Brentford  Bridge " 
(No.  23),  "The  Castello  della  Ziza  at  Palermo"  (No.  30),  and  "The 
Monument,  London"  (No.  200),  but  they  prove  to  us  also  that  the 
swiftest  etcher  now  at  work,  the  swiftest  and  most  virile,  can  summon 
into  use  when  he  tries  a  reserve  fund  of  patience  that  critics  either 
fail  to  see  or  forget  to  set  down  in  their  studies. 

Several  recent  architectural  etchings — French  motifs  as  a  rule,  like 
the  old  houses  on  piles  at  Meaux,  a  penetrative  and  grave  print — 
have  the  same  contemplative  sincerity,  a  blend  of  steady  thought 
with  aesthetic  emotion.  Now  and  again  this  meditative  search  and 
research  appear,  with  some  architecture,  in  an  industrial  motif,  and 
then  we  welcome  such  an  etching  as  the  coal  mine  after  an  explosion 
(No.  59)  or  the  one  called  "Bridge  Builders"  (No.  37),  though  it 
represents  an  iron  landing-stage  for  coal  just  below  Greenwich 
Hospital.  The  real  "Bridge  Builders"  is  plate  No.  221,  a  work 
constructed  with  authority  and  with  so  much  power  and  weight 
that  it  is  informed  all  over  with  the  clodhopper  charm  that  engineers 
put  into  the  framework  of  their  enterprises. 
"  Old  Houses  at  Ghent "  (No.  64),  etched  on  a  large  copper  plate, 

*  Wellington  said  :  "There  is  little  or  nothing  in  this  life  worth  living  for;  but  we 
can  all  of  us  go  straightforward  and  do  our  duty." 


24"  by  2 1 1",  is  known  everywhere  as  a  very  fine  achievement, 
uniting  to-day's  industry  with  a  lace-work  of  many-windowed 
architecture  that  used  to  be  the  Spanish  Guild.  A  timber  bridge, 
quite  new,  yet  not  discordant  with  old  times,  connects  a  busy 
foreground  to  the  veteran  houses,  one  of  which  has  a  stepped  gable, 
while  the  other  has  a  gable  carved  and  adorned,  such  as  we  find  in 
some  Queen  Anne  buildings,  so  called.  Windows  are  so  numerous 
that  the  frontage  has  at  least  as  many  voids  as  solids,  as  much  glass 
as  wall.  Yet  Brangwyn,  with  his  usual  felicity,  has  revealed  body 
and  weight  where  most  other  etchers  would  have  seen  a  sort  of  airy, 
fairy  structure,  unsubstantial  as  a  dream  almost.  Body,  weight, 
growth,  rhythm,  and  the  soaring  flight  of  Gothic,  that  skylark  rise 
and  song  of  Christian  architecture — these  are  attributes  of  great 
building  that  appeal  most  strongly  to  Brangwyn,  as  to  Girtin,  and 
he  makes  them  real  by  various  means  in  his  finer  plates.  "  Old 
Houses  at  Ghent "  belong  to  a  technical  inspiration  very  similar  to 
that  which  I  have  noticed  (pp.  131,  132)  in  "Old  Hammersmith" 
(No.  128),  though  there  is  a  difference  of  poetical  feeling  and  allure. 
Sunlight  is  all-important  to  "  Old  Hammersmith  ":  it  composes  and 
orchestrates  a  good  part  of  the  whole  living  design,  while  light  and 
shade  in  the  earlier  work  have  for  their  mission  the  gentle  honouring 
of  noble  old  age  with  its  charmed  and  charming  decrepitude. 
Henri  Marcel  says  no  more  than  is  quite  correct  when  he  notes  that 
the  melancholy  charm  of  decrepitude  has  rarely  been  handled  with 
such  a  fond  caress  as  in  these  "  Old  Houses  at  Ghent." 
Santa  Sophia  at  Constantinople,  with  her  arcaded  crown  of  cupolas, 
and  the  shining  amplitude  of  her  massive  facade,  is  another  fine 
plate  (No.  71) ;  and,  as  is  usual  in  Brangwyn's  attitude  to  mosques, 
cathedrals  and  other  churches,  popular  life  makes  a  busy  congrega- 
tion all  along  its  foreground.  This  Turkish  subject  belongs  to  1906; 
and  let  it  be  studied  side  by  side  with  a  later  etching,  "The  Mosque 
of  Ortakevi  at  the  Entrance  to  the  Bosphorus"  (No.  185,  285"  by 
22f",  191 1).  Here  is  a  tremendous  effect,  produced  by  contrasting 
the  majesty  of  Eastern  architecture  with  a  conflagration,  from  which 
many  persons  are  escaping.  There  are  men  carrying  other  men, 
and  the  movement  is  so  lively  that  a  first  glance  may  take  it  to  be 
the  frolic  movement  of  a  festival.  Then  a  scamper  for  safety  and 
the  rescuers  are  connected  with  the  fire,  and  one  thinks  of  Legros' 
etching  of  a  burning  village.  Brangwyn's  figures  are  introduced 
with  significant  point  work,  and  I  miss  one  thing  only — just  a  little 

144 


■  C  H  U  R  C  H     Oh      N  i-i  IRE      1)  A  M  E     A  T 
AFTKR   F.TCHIN(i   No.  143,  ON  7ANV.  aOJiN'.  ■ 


EU; 


more  foreground  as  a  bottom  balance  to  the  ascending  mass  of  living 
masonry. 

Very  different  in  all  respects  is  "The  Rialto,  Venice"  (No.  72),  which 
is  not  among  my  preferences.  It  attracts  me  little,  not  because  very 
little  of  this  bridge  can  be  seen,  but  because  there  seems  to  be  not 
much  that  is  definite  in  its  mood  and  purpose,  except  the  doing  of 
an  alert  sketch  with  rich  and  contrastive  textures.  To  my  mind, 
then,  it  does  not  help  F.  B.  to  break  his  own  records,  and  it  adds  no 
uncommon  grace  or  distinction  to  the  Venice  that  artists  have  seen 
with  their  imaginations. 

IT 

There  are  foreign  writers  who  like  to  describe  Brangwyn  sometimes 
as  mi  Veronese  Londonien,  and  sometimes  as  an  old  \'^enetian  who  has 
made  his  home  among  the  fogs  and  horrors  of  a  commercial  time. 
These  phrases  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  sculptor  Preault's 
famous  mot:  "Tkf.  Ingres  est  un  Chinois  egare  dans  At/ienes,  et  Pradier 
part  tous  les  matins  pour  la  Grece  et  arrive  tons  les  soirs  au  quartier 
Breda."*  Such  flashes  of  wit  are  never  quite  true,  but  they  amuse 
us  into  thought.  F.  B.  is  no  more  un  Veronese  Londonien  than  Ingres 
was  un  Chinois  egare  dans  Atlienes.  Certain  qualities  in  his  work  are 
nearer  to  Tiepolo  than  Veronese,  and  his  varied  style  has  ever  been 
too  candidly  his  own  to  be  at  all  near  to  any  old  master's,  except  in 
kinship  of  virile  temperament.  None  the  less  it  is  true  that  his 
Oriental  passion  for  rare  and  splendid  colour,  songful,  unfidgeted,  is 
to  many  gray  and  grim  phases  of  modernized  painting  what  the 
Venetian  school  was  to  a  good  many  Dutch  and  Flemish  students. 
And  it  is  also  true  that  he  loves  Venice,  her  present  and  her  past,  as 
Ingres  loved  the  Greek  spirit  in  art,  with  its  intellectual  design  and 
its  alembicated  form ;  the  Greek  spirit,  that  human  paradise  of  gleam- 
ing flesh  and  enchanted  simplicity. 

Venice  exists,  but  not  as  Venice,  for  genius  has  found  in  her  so 
many  Venices,  all  beautiful,  that  she  lives  variously  as  imaginative 
art.  Brangwyn  sees  there — not  the  gossamer  magic  of  Whistler's 
etched  line,  nor  the  Aphrodite  of  cities  that  Turner  illumined  with 
his  own  sunlight,  but — a  mingling  of  solid,  energetic  prose  with  airy 
romance,  just  as  Shakespeare  adds  the  hard-handed  men  of  Athens 
to  Titania  and  her  fairies,  and  Theseus  and  his  court,  and  the  eternal 

*  "  Monsier  Ingres  is  a  Chinaman  lost  in  Athens,  and  Pradier  starts  every  morning  for 
Greece  and  arrives  every  evening  at  the  Breda  quarter." 


lovers  at  sixes  and  sevens.  Quince,  Snug,  Flute,  Snout,  Bottom, 
Starveling,  are  present  in  Brangwyn's  Venice,  with  their  ups  and 
downs  of  fortune.  Quince  and  Snug  are  busy  on  their  gondola 
making,  when  they  are  not  mourners  at  those  Venetian  funerals, 
half-joyous  with  merry  colour,  that  Brangwyn  has  etched  and 
painted  ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that  Bottom  the  Weaver,  who  desires 
to  act  every  part  in  a  play,  is  not  tar  off  from  that  haunted  night 
scene  called  "  Unloading  Wine  at  Venice,"  where  Dame  Nature 
herself  seems  to  be  a  smuggler.  Two  or  three  etchings,  and  notably 
"  The  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  reveal  the  courtier  grace  and  work  of  some 
Renaissance  architecture  which  seems  to  rest  on  fidgety  water,  with 
gondolas  and  its  own  troubled  reflections. 

o 

Brangwyn's  "II  Traghetto  "  (No.  175),  though  rich  and  sonorous,  is 
not  as  a  good  host  to  me.  It  offers  too  much,  I  fear.  I  prefer  the 
great  pile  of  Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  which  adds  a  different  note  to 
the  Brangwyn  Venice,  a  note  of  uprising  adventure,  and  a  pride  that 
receives  the  full  sunlight  at  last  on  leaden  domes,  and  not  on  such 
lustred  and  gemlike  tiles  as  old  Persian  craftsmen  would  have  offered 
to  the  sky  as  praiseful  allies. 

Santa  Maria  is  etched  thrice,  and  the  great  commerce  of  shipping 
appears  in  two  plates,  adding  historical  suggestion  to  the  appeals  that 
art  makes.  A  storm  gathers  around  one  etching  (No.  108,  14I"  by 
1  i"),  darkening  up  from  the  horizon,  just  as  danger  to  the  Venetian 
Republic  drew  nearer  and  nearer  with  the  rise  of  England's  Navy, 
her  sea  supremacy  in  war  and  commerce. 

There  are  writers  who  say  that  I  am  wrong  to  seek  in  art  for  histori- 
cal suggestions,  as  esthetic  emotions  alone  have  a  rightful  magic  in 
fine  arts;  but  they  are  writers  who  employ  a  routine  of  words,  they 
never  think.  As  we  cannot  delete  Bible  literature  and  its  own  appeal 
from  Renaissance  pictures  without  cancelling  hundreds  of  master- 
pieces, so  we  cannot  shut  out  the  past  of  any  city  from  etchings  and 
pictures  that  represent  the  city's  old  buildings  and  present  life  and 
labour.  It  was  Meryon's  impassioned  love  for  the  elderly  age  of 
Paris,  in  part  a  true  literary  emotion,  that  informed  his  etched  pre- 
cision with  an  abiding  poetry  that  put  his  own  mind  and  soul  into  ■ 
non-living  things;  and  it  is  Brangwyn's  feeling  for  the  plurality  of 
Venice,  her  permanent  yesterdays  and  her  present  hours,  her  en- 
during arts  and  her  transitory  enterprises  in  the  common  work  of 
every  day,  that  enables  him  and  us  to  blend  esthetic  Venice  with 
other  elements  of  the  great  human  drama.      Even  Turner  was  not 

146 


satisfied  with  paint  and  its  inspired  pictures.  He  wrote  his  "  Falla- 
cies of  Hope" — and  quoted  from  them  in  R.A.  catalogues;  and  he 
quoted  also  from  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Dryden,  Pope,  Byron,  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  and  a  good  many  others.  Yes,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci 
could  write  with  as  much  ethical  fervour  as  Ruskin:  "The  study  of 
Nature  is  well-pleasing  to  God,  it  is  akin  to  prayer.  By  learning^the 
laws  of  Nature  we  magnify  Him  who  invented,  who  designed  this 
world ;  and  we  learn  also  to  love  Him  more,  as  great  love  of  God 
must  be  increased  by  great  and  right  knowledge."  Let  us  be  sure, 
then,  that  aesthetic  emotion  does  not  dwell  in  us  apart  from  other 
gifts  of  mind  and  heart. 

Now  and  then  Brangwyn  breaks  in  upon  our  aesthetic  feelings  by 
giving  even  too  much  space  on  his  plates  to  majestic  buildings.  His 
"  Mosque  of  Ortakevi  " 
is  one  example,  and  the 
stormy  etching  of  Santa 
Maria  has  a  foreground 
not  quite  broad  and  deep 
enough  to  counterpoise 
amply  its  architecture  and 
the  sky.  Even  in  "Santa 
Maria  from  the  Street" 
(No.  no,  17!"  by  22"), 
where  the  street  and  its 
figures  are  handled  with 
playful  care  and  high 
spirits,  another  h"  of  fore- 
ground would  be  very 
welcome  as  a  reposeful 
balance,  and  j"  more  of 
sky  would  have  freed  the 
tallest  dome  from  the 
plate's  top  edge.  Even 
a  big  plate  may  look 
Procrustean  when  its  con- 
tents are  not  so  free  as 
they  are  ample  in  con- 
ception and  fine  in  treat- 
ment. 
And     another     technical 


'm'mmjm!^^ 


>47 


point  seems  to  be  worth  offering  as  a  hint  to  be  considered. 
Two  etchings  of  Santa  Maria  (Nos.  io8  and  iio)  are  on  copper, 
while  the  third  is  on  zinc  (No.  Ii8,  312"  by  21^").  Each 
metal  gives  distinctive  quahties  as  a  rule,  and  there  appears  to 
be  more  meditation,  with  less  pictorial  suppleness  and  texture,  in 
most  of  the  work  on  copper.  Which  of  these  qualities  has  the 
happier  presence  in  architectural  motifs  ?  Who  can  say  positively  .? 
The  copper  etchings  have  an  allure  that  many  etchers  like  better 
than  the  aspects  almost  of  monochrome  painting  that  Brangwyn 
often  obtains  from  zinc ;  but  I  know  that  most  Brangwynians  prefer 
the  zinc  etchings.  My  own  view  is  that  copper  seems  to  be  nearer 
to  the  linear  genius  of  most  architecture,  though  farther  from 
Brangwyn's  native  style  as  a  great  colourist  and  painter ;  and  now 
and  then  he  seems  to  feel  this  himself  by  using  copper  for  his 
architectural  pieces,  as  for  "The  Church  of  St.  Nicholas  at  Dix- 
muden"  (No.  117),  "Old  Houses  at  Ghent,"  and  a  lightly-touched 
and  excellent  Messina  plate  called  "  The  Headless  Crucifix " 
(No.   152).* 

Ill 

On  the  other  hand,  zinc  qualities  are  adapted  a  good  many  times, 
with  so  much  tact  and  skill  to  the  linear  genius  of  architecture  that 
they  have  what  I  take  to  be  the  more  disciplined  charm  of  copper 
qualities.  "  Old  Hammersmith "  is  one  example,  and  we  find 
another  in  "The  Church  of  Notre  Dame  at  Eu,  in  Normandy" 
(No.  143,  30^"  by  23^").  This  plate  has  in  it  the  spirit  of  French 
Gothic,  which  is  generally  set  apart  from  English  phases  of  Gothic 
by  more  display.  Our  English  tradition — and  tradition  as  an 
aesthetic  factor  comes  always  from  national  character  and  intellectual 
outlook — was  a  tradition  in  design  of  sobriety  and  dignity,  with 
steadfast  purpose  and  delicate  moulding  and  restful  craftsmanship. 
It  was  this  fine  temper  that  saved  our  country  from  a  Flamboyant 
period  of  Gothic,  and  that  gave  and  gives  to  the  best  English  furniture 

•  It  is  probably  easier  to  print  from  the  white  inetal  zinc  than  from  the  coloured  metal 
copper,  and  art  students  who  are  often  "hard  up"  must  be  grateful  to  zinc,  as  it  is 
usually  cheaper  than  copper.  Some  etchers  believe  that  the  same  qualities  can  be  got, 
with  equal  ease  or  equal  difficulty,  from  both  metals,  and  that  the  choice  of  either  is 
more  a  matter  of  accident  than  a  preference  coming  from  a  temperamental  bias.  Legros, 
always  a  great  authority,  did  not  hold  these  views.  He  knew  that  men  of  genius  do 
many  things  without  becoming  conscious  of  the  reasons  ;  and  he  was  certain  that  metals 
different  in  hardness,  like  canvases  different  in  texture,  must  have,  as  a  rule,  a  differing 
influence  on  a  work's  technique  and  presence. 

148 


unrivalled  quietness  with  grace  and  strength.  French  Gothic  is  more 
profuse,  more  fanciful,  more  feminine  and  enriched,  often  restless; 
and  its  Flamboyant  period  is  concordant  with  those  effervescent 
moods  which  Frenchmen  have  united  often  to  more  wit  than 
humour,  and  to  more  revolution  than  beneficent,  wise  compromise. 
But  Brangwyn  shows  also,  in  his  finer  interpretations  of  French 
architecture,  that  the  inner  merits  of  French  building,  lilce  the 
inner  merits  of  French  courage  and  enterprise,  are  staunch  and 
weighty.  To-day,  in  fact,  the  French  character  grows  into  self- 
denial  and  towards  reserve;  while  our  British  civilian  character  is 
becoming  so  much  like  our  noisepapers  and  our  picture  palaces  that 
little  public  work  can  be  done  without  much  aid  from  scenical 
emotion  and  theatrical  display. 

"  Notre  Dame  at  Eu "  reveals  a  French  phase  of  Gothic  in  an 
extract  of  Brangwyn's  own  style.  The  church  occupies  nearly  the 
whole  of  a  large  plate,  and  Brangwyn  feels  with  so  much  ardour  all 
ascending  lines,  the  upward  flight  of  Gothic,  that,  like  Girtin,  his 
hand  lingers  with  greatest  persuasion  on  the  building's  upper  parts. 
A  little  more  foreground  would  be  welcome,  though  la  vie  populaire 
is  put  in  with  wit  and  humour  and  frolic,  clustering  around  the 
church  in  a  festival,  with  booths  and  wrestlers  and  holiday-makers 
noisily  and  jocosely  at  their  ease. 

'  Other  etchers  never  capture  from  Gothic  architecture  and  its  position 
in  social  life  any  visions  equal  and  similar  to  Brangwyn's  best.  They 
collect  much  else  that  we  need,  of  course,  like  Cameron  and  Bone ; 
or  like  Lepere  and  Bauer,  whose  West  Fronts  of  Amiens  are  finely 
seen,  felt,  cut,  and  made  into  different  gems,  entirely  free  from  busy 
paste.  But  I  like  better  still  an  etching-needle  that  is  never  at  all 
pretty,  because  it  rebuilds,  like  Cotman's,  or  like  Piranesi's ;  and  how 
fortunate  we  are  when  we  feel,  in  Brangwyn's  rebuildings,  how  solid 
and  heavy  is  the  petrified  music  which  goes  up  and  up  as  noble 
Gothic,  as  if  eager  to  return  the  sun's  daily  visits. 
To  put  into  stone,  maybe  for  a  thousand  years,  and  many  more,  a  true 
and  generous  art  that  is  musical  with  good  work  full  of  thoughtful 

.*  aspirations  and  just  pride,  is  this  the  most  hospitable  well-doing  that 
binds  century  after  century  to  that  which  is  for  ever  best  in  thorough 
and  worthy  craftsmen?  I  believe  it  must  be.  No  gap  parts  it  from 
common  lives  and  mean  streets ;  it  offers  to  all  comers  a  noble  wel- 
come; and  though  men  ill-treat  it  sometimes  and  often  neglect  it, 
becanse  they  have  not  been  taught  how  to  make  friends  with  it,  they 

149 


cannot  befoul  it  often  with  thegainblin»  knock-outsthatauctioas  thrust 
upon  any  noble  work  that  is  easy  to  move  from  place  to  place.  To 
my  mind,  then,  etchers  and  outdoor  painters  are  always  most  useful 
and  necessary  to  the  art  of  living  as  chums  among  their  fellow-men 
when  they  try  to  translate  into  their  work  the  friendliness  that  fine 
architecture  offers  to  everybody.  Even  etchers  who  give  their  days 
to  trade  work,  far  too  neat  and  pretty  for  the  well-doing  that  counts 
in  the  to-morrows,  are  to  architecture  what  posters  are  to  business. 
They  attract  notice,  stir  up  interest,  and  remind  us  that  Life  and 
Art  get  separated,  like  Art  and  Industry,  unless  many  and  various 
connecting-links  hold  them  together  as  allies.  As  a  rule,  too,  etch- 
ings and  pictures  of  public  architecture  should  be  united  to  the 
people's  customs  and  manners. 

In  Brangwyn's  rapid  impression  of  "Notre  Dame  at  Paris,"  a  recent 
plate  done  out  of  doors,  perennial  architecture  is  foiled,  with  satire, 
by  a  democratic  orator  who,  with  banners  raised  between  the  showers 
of  a  fitful  day,  promises  a  new  earth  to  a  throng  of  ideal  statesmen 
dawdling  with  their  votes  among  sudden  shades  and  flashes  of  sun- 
light. The  masons  who  built  Notre  Dame  de  Paris  were  kings  in 
comparison  with  these  triflers  who  rise  and  fall  on  talk  like  balloons 
on  gas.  Across  the  top  of  one  plate — "La  Rue  des  Mauvais 
Garfons  " — Meryon  etched  with  a  very  fine  needle  some  pathetic 
verses,  so  eager  was  he  to  put  into  words,  as  well  as  into  lines  and 
tones,  his  thoughts  on  life's  contrasts  and  ironies.  It  is  for  the  same 
purpose  that  Brangwyn  employs  popular  life  as  annotations  to  his 
etchings  of  great  architecture.  Wit,  humour,  irony,  satire,  burlesque, 
pathos,  tragedy,  terror,  with  other  condiments  from  the  frequent 
hash  that  nations  make  of  their  opportunities,  are  present  among  the 
foreground  figures  whenever  Brangwyn  desires  to  place  in  quite 
normal  opposition  the  littleness  of  ordinary  men  and  the  varied 
genius  that  venerable  buildings  represent  from  age  to  age. 
In  "St.  Leonard's  Abbey,  near  Tours"  (No.  206),  an  etching  to  be 
studied  again  and  again,  some  tagrag  and  bobtail — caddish  moments 
of  humanity — enjoy  fuddled  high  jinks  at  the  foot  of  a  noble  but 
neglected  piece  of  architecture  whose  style  seems  to  date  from  the 
twelfth  century.  This  satirical  humour  is  justified  by  much  ill- 
treatment  which  so  many  ancient  abbeys  have  received  from  bigots, 
tourists,  reformers,  farmers,  and  other  ideal  persons,  all  too  self- 
imprisoned  to  notice  the  proud  thoroughness  that  the  Middle  Ages 
treasured  up  in  beautiful  masonry,  though  everyone's  life  was  threat- 

'5° 


ened  by  many  a  disease  uncommon  nowadays.  Is  there  anything 
more  touching  than  the  contrast  between  the  brevity  of  medi-.cval 
lives  and  the  astounding  endurance  ot  mediitval  craftsmanship  even 
when  great  ruins  are  neglected  ? 

"  St.  Leonard's  Abbey  " — it  is  a  large  print,  23I"  by  29!" — should 
be  put  side  by  side  with  Brangwyn's  study  of  Romanesque  cloisters 
in  a  noble  church  at  Airvault,  Deux-Sevres,  a  town  remarkable  also 
for  a  Romanesque  bridge  of  the  twelfth  century,  le  pont  de  Vcriiay. 
Few  etchings,  old  or  new,  blend  together  so  much  architectural 
might  with  so  much  original  mystery,  and  there's  little  trace  of 
those  emphatic  dark  plots  which  Brangwyn  is  apt  to  use  when  he  is 
greatly  moved  by  decorative  aspects  of  his  light  and  shade.  A 
religious  ceremony  has  attracted  to  these  cloisters  broken  mendicants 
of  many  sorts,  with  cloaked  and  hooded  women  who  carry  tapers. 
All  this  human  desolation  is  made  real  with  passion,  receiving  more 
time  and  thought  than  Brangwyn  has  given  to  any  other  plate.  Yet 
I  am  not  drawn  into  the  drama  that  this  poverty  and  misery  repre- 
sent, and  I  must  say  why  if  the  right  words  come.      It  seems  to  me 


'51 


that  these  human  figures,  which  express  deep  sincerity  and  grave 
meditation,  come  more  from  Brangwyn  himself,  his  inner  conscious- 
ness, than  from  that  alembicating  observation,  that  intellectual  grip 
on  observed  character  and  other  truth,  v^^hich,  when  quintessenced 
and  raised  to  the  highest  power,  enable  artists  to  reveal  the  heart's 
tragedies  as  well  as  great  outward  aspects  of  high  drama.  I  believe, 
too,  like  W.  R.  Lethaby,  that  "  a  characteristic  of  a  work  of  art  is 
that  the  design  interpenetrates  workmanship,  so  that  one  may  hardly 
know  where  one  ends  and  the  other  begins."  In  "Airvault  Church," 
unless  I  misjudge  it,  workmanship  and  design,  the  whole  motif  and 
purpose,  do  not  yet  achieve  complete  oneness,  as  their  human 
element  is  not  yet  quite  whole  with  the  architectural  parts,  whose 
inspiration  has  intense  magic. 

I  am  touching  now  on  a  debatable  subject,  and  for  several  reasons 
it  is  a  subject  that  keeps  me  on  delicate  ground.  But  the  interpre- 
tation of  art  cannot  have  any  value  unless  it  is  quite  frank  towards 
delicate  matters,  offering  with  modest  care  for  consideration  those 
hitches  and  imperfect  sympathies  which  arise  now  and  again  between 
devotees  and  their  chosen  artists.  I  remember  the  many  months  of 
thought  that  Legros  gave  to  the  figures  in  his  noble  plates  on  the 
Triumph  of  Death.  He  brooded  over  each  plate,  not  with  that 
cold  after-thought  which  generally  spoils  inspiration,  but  with  that 
developing  fervour  that  most  epic  toil  needs  from  the  highest  facul- 
ties of  the  highest  minds.  Legros  was  braced  up  and  heartened 
by  his  conviction  that  he  could  not  go  far  enough  into  the  most 
wondrous  varied  mystery  enveloping  the  brief  seasons  of  his  and  our 
perishable  years.  One  day  he  said  to  me  :  "  There  are  two  very 
easy  things  that  I  am  tempted  all  the  time  to  do.  I  can  put  in  too 
much  with  my  needle-point,  and  I  can  leave  out  too  much.  A 
crowd  is  a  crowd,  so  I  must  work  within  the  spirit  of  my  crowds, 
trying  always  not  to  express  either  overmuch  or  too  little  with  lines 
I  etch." 

Again  and  again  Brangwyn  is  face  to  face  with  these  problems,  and 
he  seeks  help  of  many  sorts — from  coloured  papers,  tinted  high 
lights,  rich  translucent  inks  admirably  blended,  and  other  printing 
methods,  full  of  thought  and  often  most  satisfying  as  producers  of 
original  and  memorable  beauties.  And  I  am  not  perplexed  when 
his  chiaroscuro  seems  not  to  belong  to  our  sun  and  our  firmament  of 
air,  when  it  seems  to  come  from  his  own  mind,  as  Dante's  awful 
other  world  came  from  Dante's ;  but,  of  course,  art  demands  most 

152 


■  I' H  K    (■  I.O  1  SI   KK  >     O  I-      \1K\AI     I     I     (    111    K<    H. 
WVKU   A   RECENT  KTCHINi;   NOT  \  IW  (A  T.M.fKU  KJ  i 


earnest  realism  in  some  of  its  parts  when  non-natural  elements 
inform  its  appeal  in  other  parts.  Shakespeare  sketches  with  the 
utmost  care  his  hard-handed  men  of  Athens  and  his  lovers  and 
courtiers  when  he  imagines  his  dream  peopled  with  Titania  and  her 
fairies,  because  he  knows  that  the  human  mind  is  apt  towards  the 
supernatural  only  within  the  companionship  of  real  things  and 
familiar  persons.  Other-worldliness  needs  our  own  worldliness  as 
a  balance  and  protector;  and  it  is  just  here  that  Brangwyn,  to  my 
mind,  loses  some  grip  of  his  purpose  in  the  Cloisters  of  Airvault 
Church. 

I  know  not  how  these  cloisters  are  illumined,  as  I  have  never  been 
fortunate  enough  to  see  in  nature  the  mysterious  light  which  he  has 
imagined  and  then  set  free,  as  ambient  as  air,  to  transfigure  all  that 
it  touches.  It  touches  all  the  proud,  bold  architecture,  arched  and 
columned  shapes  ;  but  the  mendicants — halt,  lame,  blind,  deformed, 
or  depraved  by  suffering,  with  some  other  hostages  whom  fortune 
has  kept  and  broken — these,  I  believe,  are  just  a  little  outside  the 
light  and  clash  with  it  somewhat.  And  I  note  also  that  this  lighting, 
which  appeals  with  so  much  charm  and  mystery  to  the  imagination, 
was  suggested  by  Nature  and  etched  out  of  doors.  Yes,  but  Shelley's 
Skylark  came  from  Nature,  so  did  the  Nightingale  of  Keats,  and 
all  poets  of  the  world  before  their  time  had  heard  other  skylarks 
and  other  nightingales.  Nature  is  what  Nature  becomes  to  imagina- 
tive genius.  One  day  a  lady  spoke  to  Turner  about  the  magician's 
colour.  "  I  find,  Mr.  Turner,  in  copying  one  of  your  pictures,  that 
touches  of  blue,  red  and  yellow  appear  all  through  the  work." 
"  Well,  madam,  don't  you  see  that  yourself  in  Nature  ?  Because,  if 
you  don't.  Heaven  help  you."  Turner  forgot  that  the  good  lady 
had  but  her  own  eyes,  while  he  had  his  unique  genius.* 


IV 

When  Brangwyn,  in  1906,  discovered  his  own  etched  style  by 
producing  his  "  Old  Houses  at  Ghent  "  (No.  64),  and  when,  two 
years  later,  by  achieving  "Old  Hammersmith"  (No.  128),  he 
improved  this  happy  style — a  duet  between  his  own  manner  in 
pointwork   and    in    printing — we   all    got   from  him  a  standard  by 

*  "Airvault  Church"  is  reproduced  in  this  book,  on  a  scale  greatly  reduced.  The 
photogravure  gives  a  good  many  of  the  qualities,  but  not  the  original  charm  of  F.  B.'s 
lighting. 

X  '53 


which  to  judge  his  later  etched  work ;  and  a  standard  all  the  more 
valuable  to  us,  and  to  himself  also,  because  it  was  not  hard  and  fast, 
not  mannered  and  procrustean,  but  supple  and  plastic,  and  rich  with 
possibilities.  His  adherents  knew  that  it  was  not  a  standard  which 
he  could  repeat  without  a  break:  two  lines  of  descent  would  come 
from  it,  one  direct  and  graceful  and  one  somewhat  reactionary. 
Printing  methods  would  be  certain  to  have  their  own  line  of  descent 
from  those  experiments  with  aquatint  and  foul  biting  to  be  found  in 
several  prints  of  the  apprentice  years  (1900-3),  and  sometimes  their 
development  might  turn  pointwork  into  a  maker  of  skeletons  for 
the  manipulation  of  inks  to  clothe  with  body  and  expressive  light, 
shade,  texture  and  vivid  life. 

Sometimes  this  development  has  occurred,  educing  very  dramatic 
work,  varied  and  original,  with  a  long  reach  and  a  firm  grip.  The 
general  aspect  of  "Le  Pont  Neuf,  Paris,"  belongs  to  it  partly,  so 
does  the  general  aspect  of  "Airvault  Church,"  and  that  also  of  "St. 
Peter's  of  the  Exchange,  Genoa"  (No.  209),  a  large  and  decorative 
plate  etched  out  of  doors.  A  religious  procession  is  introduced  with 
apt  observation  and  allusive  skill ;  it  comes  down  the  steps  and  across 
the  foreground  on  our  left,  while  many  people  either  kneel  in  prayer 
or  look  on  with  reverence.  Here  and  there  deep  shadows  full  of 
detail  clasp  the  architecture,  and  a  slight  and  effective  undertone  is 
put  on  the  plate  with  acid  in  a  manner  discovered  by  Brangwyn. 
This  etching  is  a  very  acute,  perceptive  study,  coming  from  a 
technical  inspiration  of  a  piece  with  those  that  appeal  to  us  from 
a  Brangwyn  impression  in  rapid  and  flowing  water-colour.  It  may  be 
bracketed  with  "St.  Nicolas  du  Chardonnet,  Paris"  (No.  208),  an 
original  old  church,  built  in  a  style  that  somehow  recalls  F.  B.'s  own 
power.  But  generally  I  prefer  those  prints  that  come  by  the  more 
lineal  descent  from  "Old  Hammersmith"  and  the  "Old  Houses  at 
Ghent";  and  since  this  chapter  ends  my  present  endeavour  to  interpret 
as  loyally  as  I  can  what  a  rare  genius  has  done  with  etching  tools 
and  inks,  I  wish  to  sum  up  what  I  see  and  feel  in  both  groups 
of  prints,  in  so  far  as  they  concern  this  chapter.  And  let  mc  say 
that  I  do  not  look  upon  printing  as  the  mere  manipulation  of  inks — 
a  technical  matter  that  concerns  a  good  printer.  It  is  on  inspirations 
and  general  aspects  expressed  with  the  service  of  inks  and  printing 
that  an  interpreter  of  etching  has  to  fix  his  attention. 
We  start  out  from  19 10  with  the  Messina  earthquake  prints — a  set 
of  etchings  unique  in   several  ways,  but   mainly  because   it  reveals 

154 


what  a  tragedian  artist  feels  when  he  stands  among  awful  ruins 
thronged  with  death  by  one  of  Nature's  convulsions.  There  arc 
seven  Messina  plates,  and  only  one  is  what  I  take  to  be  something  of 
a  truant  in  general  aspect  from  the  "Old  Hammersmith"  standard. 
It  is  a  Martin-like  vision  of  the  wrecked  Duomo,  seen  from  outside, 
with  a  vague  crowd  on  its  knees  in  prayer  around  the  apse,  a  bluff 
and  haughty  structure,  while  a  sky  burdened  with  smoke  eddies  and 
gleams,  and  the  sun  sets  gloriously,  as  if  no  unusual  event  had  brought 
horror  to  our  world.  This  Duomo  is  reputed  to  date  from  the 
Norman  period  and  the  year  1098.  More  than  a  century  ago,  in 
1793,  her  campanile  and  transept  were  overthrown  by  earthquake, 
and  in  1908,  when  Brangwyn  made  his  many  sketches  and  water- 
colours,  much  else  had  just  perished,  leaving  only  portions  of  the 
fa9ade  and  the  apse,  which  stood  above  an  earthquake's  terrific  ruins 
as  medieval  fortresses  used  to  hold  out  in  provinces  overrun  by  a  foe 
who  spared  little  that  could  be  destroyed.  Though  the  plate  is  full 
of  pointwork,  close  and  potent,  its  whole  conception  is  a  mono- 
chrome painting,  and  it  is  printed  with  greater  force  than  F.  C. 
Lewis  put  with  aquatint  into  Girtin's  noble  "Rue  St.  Denis."  In 
general  allure  this  print  is  Martinesque,  and  I  ask  myself  whether 
the  shade  of  Charles  Lamb  likes  it  better  than  Lamb  in  the  flesh 
liked  the  stupendous  architectural  designs  that  John  Martin  erected 
somehow  in  a  world  of  his  own  creation. 

The  other  Messina  prints  also  are  remarkable  for  thoughtful  print- 
ing, as  in  the  surging  waves  of  smoke  that  pile  themselves  up  against 
the  sky  beyond  the  white  Via  del  Trombe,  a  skeleton  street  littered 
with  beams  and  ratters,  a  rescue  party  bearing  away  a  dead  body 
recovered  from  the  havoc,  and  on  our  left,  white  against  the  sky,  a 
ruined  monastery,  one  of  Santa  Teresa's.  More  memorable  still  are 
the  "Old  Houses  at  Messina"  (No.  150),  a  vast  pyramid  of  ravaged 
walls  flanked  by  a  forlorn  arch,  and  crowned  at  tiptop  by  two  almost 
snug  little  rooms  that  look  like  dovecots  a  trifle  startled.  Looters 
and  rescuers  are  at  work,  and  looters  are  the  more  numerous,  for 
they  run  off  with  violoncellos  and  other  things  that  virtue  would 
forget  after  an  earthquake.  Dean  Swift  would  have  liked  such 
mordant  satire.  He  had  no  love  for  tiny  and  trivial  human  beings; 
and  here  an  earthquake  seems  to  invite  satire,  being  more  picturesque 
than  terrible  in  the  aspect  of  gaunt  ruins.  Here,  too,  we  owe  much 
more  to  the  etching-needle  than  to  clever  manipulation  of  able 
printing  methods. 

'55 


One  Messina  plate  is  called  "The  Church  of  The  Holy  Ghost"  (No. 
151,  28-I"  by  22}").  The  church  is  in  the  mid-distance  on  our 
right  and  overawed  by  a  formidable  sky,  and  by  a  huge,  yawning 
house  that  rules  over  the  etching  with  Dantean  power.  Very  gladly 
would  I  delete  some  human  figures  from  this  wreckage,  this  grand 
tragedy  of  the  ruined  inanimate.  Man  has  no  rightful  place  here. 
He  has  been  routed,  and  an  earthquake  reigns  posthumously  among 
her  sepulchres  of  desolation.  Any  animate  life  would  be  more 
impressive  than  that  of  feeble  ordinary  men,  with  their  long  ladders 
and  their  straggling  much-ado.  A  pack  of  dogs  baying  to  the  hot 
sun,  or  rats  m  marching  order  emigrating  from  the  ruins  to  a  home 
unknown,  would  be  more  concordant  with  our  artist's  grand  realiza- 
tion of  human  futility  when  Nature  sets  to  work  with  her  high 
explosives.  Viewed  as  a  whole,  however,  this  great  work  is  true 
incantation.      It  employs  no  jugglery. 

Only  a  few  monuments  were  uninjured  by  the  Messian  earthquake. 
No  harm  was  done  to  a  Monument  of  the  Virgin,  the  Immacolata 
di  Marmor,  a  tall  shrine  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  and  Brangwyn 
represents  it  surrounded  by  adoring  outcasts,  modern  houses  behind, 
bleak,  dark,  and  shattered,  with  empty  windows  through  which  a 
sunrise  glows.  Human  figures  are  welcome  here,  the  inspiration 
being  one  of  prayer  and  self-fear,  with  hope  at  a  nearing  distance. 
In  this  plate  greeny-gray  ink  is  employed,  and  the  shrine  receives  a 
golden  light  from  the  dawn — that  perpetual  spring  in  time's  rough 
journey  from  the  eternal  old  into  fresh  variations  of  life's  hackneyed 
logic. 

Then  there  is  "The  Headless  Crucifix"  In  a  ruined  church  at  Mes- 
sina (No.  152).  As  a  rapid  sketch  it  is  finely  seen,  it  is  deeply  felt, 
it  is  most  expressive  and  apt ;  perhaps  too  expressive  in  two  fore- 
ground figures,  newsmongers,  one  of  whom  has  a  bald  head  and  a 
back  that  smirks  in  a  courtier's  bow.  And  this  irony  is  foiled  by  the 
undamaged  pilasters  carrying  a  round  arch  above  the  crucifix. 
As  for  the  "Church  of  the  Sta.  Chiara  del  Carmine,  at  Taormina" 
(No.  153),  it  has  a  somewhat  splashy  handicraft  which  looks  slightly 
boastful  to  me,  though  not  a  braggart  like  the  sketchiness  to  be  found 
in  a  ragged  and  corrupt  old  bystreet  at  St.  Cirq  (No.  198),  where 
three  men  are  whispering  such  plots  and  plans  as  Eugene  Sue  would 
have  liked  to  concoct  for  reprobate  alleys  and  lanes  past  praying  for. 
Similar  qualities  mark  a  few  recent  plates.  There  is  the  "Porte 
St.  Jacques,  Parthenay"  (No.  203),  and  "Notre  Dame  at  Poitiers" 

156 


(No.  201),  both  effective,  but  I 
prefer  the  controlled  technique  of 
"The  Headless  Crucifix,"  or  the 
study  that  enriches  some  old  houses 
at  Meaux,  a  tannery  at  Parthenay 
(No.  202),  or  a  handsome  and 
elderly  cafe  at  Tours  (No.  205). 
And  there's  "A  Street  in  Puy" — 
a  genuine  "find."  What  fanciful- 
ness  the  old  French  builders  often 
massed  together  as  into  a  mosaic 
of  quaint  architecture ! 
Everyone  know^s  how  apt  Brang- 
wyn  is  when  he  sketches  at  what 
I  may  call  high  sprinting  speed, 
covering  a  mile  at  a  pace  that 
other  men  might  find  too  hot  in  a 
quarter-mile.  A  retentive  memory 
for  shapes,  colours,  general  im- 
pressions, aids  his  selective  eye- 
sight that  detaches  observed  things  and  their  effects  at  once  into  a 
sort  of  magnified  focus;  and  these  two  natural  gifts,  stimulated  by 
practice  and  experience,  nourish  his  Iberian  sensitiveness  with 
excitants,  and  set  in  motion  a  hand  that  unites  unusual  grip  and 
vigour  to  a  swiftness  unrivalled  among  artists  of  our  time.  For 
years  we  have  seen  these  productions  of  his  genius;  there's  nothing 
unfamiliar  to  us  in  their  nimble-footed  qualities,  so  muscular  and 
well-nerved;  and  hence  he  does  well  from  time  to  time  to  explore 
quieter  moods  and  more  meditative  inspirations. 

Thrifty  dry-points  would  be  natural  off-shoots  from  "Old  Hammer- 
smith," so  would  bitten  work  in  pure,  ripe  outline,  and  his  followers 
everywhere  would  value  them  more  than  they  value  even  "The 
Gateway  of  Avila,"  a  masterful  sketch  in  a  familiar  mood  and 
method.  Such  vehemence  as  that  which  informs  the  nefarious  alley 
at  St.  Cirq.  (No.  198)  is  less  attractive  than  "A  Back  Street  in 
Naples"  (No.  191),  because  it  has  no  self-denial;  and  even  this 
"Back  Street  in  Naples"  seems  to  come — not  from  the  most  medi- 
tated parts  of  "Old  Hammersmith"  and  "Old  Houses,  Ghent,"  but 
— from  looser  portions  of  their  handicraft.  Though  a  very  good 
croquis,  it  does  not  extend  our  knowledge  of  what  Brangwyn  can  do 

^S7 


when  he  multiplies  himself,  or  what  he  has  done  and  should  do  with 
his  etching-point. 

Let  us  look  upon  the  best  work  of  genius  as  the  voice  of  an  original 
artist,  a  dual  voice,  physical  and  spiritual,  and  let  us  believe  it  is  a 
truism  that  genius  should  never  be  set  either  to  overdo  its  natural 
notes  and  harmonies  or  to  neglect  any  weak  note  that  can  be 
strengthened  and  improved.  Every  genius  has  weak  notes,  with 
imperfect  chords  and  timbres;  and  always  they  are  very  noticeable 
in  prolific  geniuses,  like  Rubens  among  painters  and  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Dumas  among  imaginative  penmen.  They  are  noticeable 
also  in  Brangwyn;  and  since  1910,  side  by  side  with  many  varied 
productions  that  the  world  will  not  let  die,  he  has  done  much  that 
I  describe  as  his  daily  journalism,  because  it  is  to  his  racing 
hand  what  newspaper  articles  are  to  H.  G.  Wells  and  to  Arnold 
Bennett. 

Are  we  to  believe  that  prolific  painters  and  etchers  are  as  fortunately 
placed  as  prolific  writers  ?  It  is  right  to  remember  that  they  give 
hostages  in  gilt  frames  to  fortune.  Their  journalism  is  kept,  it  is 
sold  at  auctions;  so  it  does  not  come  and  go  with  a  day,  like  volatile 
party  politics  that  flow  into  newspapers  from  some  of  our  novelists. 
Portaels  said  to  me  one  day,  speaking  of  a  prolific  painter,  "  I've 
told  him  not  to  forget  that  frequent  sketches  when  sold  continuously 
are  to  a  reputation  what  barnacles  are  to  ships.  They  collect  upon 
it,  they  clog  and  hamper  it,  and  may  send  it  all  at  once  into  port — 
perhaps  to  be  neglected,  perhaps  even  to  be  regarded  as  out  of  date." 
When  I  think  over  these  excellent  words,  I  cannot  help  believing 
that  it  is  from  patient  moods,  apt  self-denial,  that  Brangwyn  now 
adds  new  good  villages  and  towns  to  his  own  kingdom. 
His  Cyclopean  "Gate  at  Naples,"  with  the  graceful  and  lofty  church 
behind  (No.  172),  is  a  descendant  from  that  which  is  best  in  "Old 
Hammersmith,"  and  the  contrast  between  it  and  the  suavely  rich 
and  sumptuous  "  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  or  the  nobly-handled  framework 
of  "Building  a  Ship"  (No.  195),  comes  from  a  dramatizing  aptness 
of  judgment  which  a  master  hand  cannot  employ  too  variously.  It 
is  this  gift  that  makes  Brangwyn  a  master  of  crowd  aspects.  He 
understands  human  moods  when  the  crowd  temper  sways  them,  and 
now  he  has  to  prove  that  big  figures  also  can  be  put  well  into  large 
etchings  charmed  with  great  architecture. 

Those  men  who  live  with  mankind  after  they  are  dead,  and  whose 
shades  might  often  revisit  our  world  if  our  adulation  did  not  shock 

15H 


their  humility,  are  the  men  of  genius  who  teach  us  to  see  in  men  of 
a  day  what  is  human  for  ever,  and  also  how  artists  can  and  should 
make  wise  concessions  to  common  men  and  harassed  lives.  When 
Brangwyn  is  not  at  his  best  it  is  never  because  he  has  any  scorn  for 
those  to  whom  he  appeals.  No  artist  can  be  freer  from  a'sthetic 
snobbery,  with  prattle  about  sweetness  and  light,  and  Philistines  and 
vulgar  tradesmen,  and  sordid  city  men,  and  so  forth.  His  whole  life 
is  given,  and  has  been  given,  to  the  reunion  of  art  and  ordinary 
people;  and  hence  he  agrees  with  W.  R.  Lethaby,  who  is  always 
thoughtful : — 

"  It  is  a  pity  to  make  a  mystery  of  what  should  be  most  easily  understood. 
There  is  nothing  occult  about  the  thought  that  all  things  may  be  made 
well  or  made  ill.  A  work  of  art  is  a  well-made  thing,  that  is  all.  It  may 
be  a  well-made  statue  or  a  well-made  chair  or  a  well-made  book.  Art  is 
not  a  special  sauce  applied  to  ordinary  cooking ;  it  is  the  cooking  itself  if  it 
is  good.  Most  simply  and  generally  art  may  be  thought  of  as  The  Well- 
Doing  of  What  Needs  Doing.  If  the  thing  is  not  worth  doing  it  can 
hardly  be  a  work  of  art,  however  well  it  may  be  made.  A  thing  worth 
doing  which  is  ill  done  is  hardly  a  thing  at  all.  Fortunately  people  are  artists 
who  know  it  not — bootmakers  (the  few  left),  gardeners  and  basketmakers, 
and  all  players  of  games.  .  .  .  Our  art  critics  might  occupy  quite  a  useful 
place  if  they  would  be  good  enough  to  realise  that  behind  the  picture  shows 
of  the  moment  is  the  vast  and  important  art  of  the  country — the  arts  of 
the  builder,  furniture-maker,  printer,  and  the  rest,  which  are  matters  of 
national  well-being." 

More  than  any  man  of  art  in  our  time  Brangwyn  merits  our 
gratitude,  and  invites  return  visits  from  us  all,  since  his  work  in  so 
many  versatile  ways  roots  itself  among  needs  of  everyday  strife  and 
the  restoration  of  British  workmanship.  We  leave  his  etchings 
now  for  other  productions,  all  springing  from  his  passion  for  life  as 
it  is,  that  noisy  welter  of  human  toil  and  effort  which  is  foiled  often 
into  such  sinister  and  tragic  aspects  by  a  sweet  serene  grace  nestling 
with  the  ages  around  old  village  spires  and  towers,  and  around 
minsters  and  other  churches,  soot-begrimed,  in  our  commercial 
towns  and  cities. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  I  have  used  the  word  "  art  "  too  many 
times.  It  is  a  word  staled  by  misuse,  no  doubt.  Theatrical  com- 
panies are  noted  for  their  art,  like  music-halls  and  orchestras.  Is  it 
not  true  that  chorus  girls  could  not  believe  more  firmly  in  their  art 
if  they  were  spoiled  sopranos.''     Even  a  hurried  barber,  who  shaves 

159 


you  till  blood  comes,  a  notable  experience,  consoles  himself  by 
assuming  that  his  art  may  rise  through  blunders  into  skill.  Perhaps 
the  word  "  artist  "  may  become  popular  as  a  synonym  for  "  man  " 
and  "  woman,"  though  not,  I  fear,  for  "  mother  "  and  "  father,"  as 
mothers  and  tathers  are  never  mentioned  among  to-day's  artists.  I 
wonder  why.  Is  it  because  they  do  create  ?  Is  it  because  their 
babies  have  wee  hands  beautiful  enough  to  defeat  Phidias  and 
Praxiteles  ? 

Yet  this  word  art,  misused  as  it  is,  has  the  virtue  of  being  crisp  and 
short  ;  and  if  we  accept  it  as  meaning  all  good  work  done  well  for 
a  nation's  honour  and  service,  we  cannot  do  harm,  nor  can  we 
invite  ridicule.  Mr.  A.  Glutton  Brock,  an  inspiriting  writer  always, 
believes  that  the  word  "  design  "  has  a  more  precise  meaning  than 
the  word  art.  No  doubt  he  is  right,  right  in  the  main;  but  good 
design  as  good  workmanship  can  and  should  come  from  quite 
ordinary  talents  that  take  loving  pains,  while  art  in  the  higher  sense 
comes  only  from  true  genius.  Let  the  word  art  be  design  and 
genius  also.  Then  small  men  and  great  men  will  be  united  by 
a  common  respect  for  thoroughness. 


1 60 


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■  TUI-;  Nativity     :  stimv 

FOR      F.TlIIING     N(l.     19!l 


CHAPTER    XI      BRANGWYN,    ART,    AND    NATIONAL 
WELFARE 

t  a  time  when  a  just  and  necessary 
War  accumulates  colossal  debts, 
with  other  handicaps,  whick  new 
generations  will  have  to  bear,  no 
sane  man  would  write  a  book  on 
art  unless  he  had  the  will  to  keep  clearly  before  his  mind  what  his 
native  land  needs  from  art,  if  common  lives  and  common  daily  toil 
are  to  be  improved;  and  since  Brangwyn  all  through  his  life  has 
shown  in  many  ways  that  real  progress  comes  from  work  which  is 
worth  doing  as  a  joy,  and  not  for  wages  only,  let  us  try  to  see  how 
certain  ideas  and  duties  which  he,  with  some  other  big  men,  has 
obeyed,  should  be  applied  to  our  national  welfare.  His  genius  and 
experience  can  be  of  great  use  to  the  State,  sometimes  in  advice 
given  and  sometimes  in  work  done. 

For  a  man  who  has  designed  excellent  carpets  and  admirable  stained 
glass,  good  furniture  and  fine  panelled  rooms,  beautiful  books,  like 
the  Belgian  Book,  and  welcome  posters  for  our  streets;  who  has 
added  to  these  public  benefits  great  work  as  an  etcher  and  greater  as 
a  master  of  decorative  painting,  is  an  artist  to  be  employed  by  the 
State  during  that  regeneration  through  which  our  life  and  our  crafts 
and  our  towns  must  be  made  to  pass  gradually  and  wisely,  after  we 
begin  to  settle  from  armed  strife,  with  its  gnawing  fever  and  peril, 
into  the  unarmed  competitions  named  peace.  If  men  of  this  rare 
sort  are  not  employed  as  national  servants  after  this  long  ordeal  by 
battle,  huckstering  compromise  will  begin  once  more  to  misrule. 
Historians  note,  with  abundant  evidence,  that  the  English  as  a  people 
are  proudly  unimaginative,  except  in  busy  self-deception.  We  know 
little  as  a  nation  about  our  past  history,  and  care  little  for  great 
dreams  that  our  youngsters  ought  to  make  into  realities.  Unless  we 
have  imagination,  that  sun  among  spiritual  gifts,  no  fact  of  ample 
magnitude,  whether  friendly  or  threatening,  can  be  seen  all  around 
and  entire.  Again  and  again,  by  long  self-neglect  united  to  cock- 
sureness,  our  countrymen  have  asked  Providence  to  let  England  die; 
and  another  matter  must  be  looked  steadily  in  the  face.  National 
character  alters  with  such  gradual  slowness  that  its  old  and  recent 
actions  are  always  our  best  guides  when  we  wish  by  means  of  fore- 
thought to  safeguard  our  country  from  her  worst  foes — her  civilians. 
Y  i6i 


After  Waterloo,  in  all  matters  of  self-defence,  her  civilians  fell  halt- 
asleep  ;  after  the  Crimea,  with  its  muddles  and  its  frostbitten  bravery, 
they  repeated  the  same  folly ;  and  again  also  after  the  Boer  War,  de- 
spite Germany's  braggart  policy,  with  warnings  from  British  vigilants 
led  by  Lord  Roberts.  Is  there  to  be  yet  another  repetition  after  the 
present  cataclysm?  Yes — if  men  of  genius  do  not  act  together  and 
prevent  its  coming.  There  have  been  so  many  harmful  strikes  during 
this  war,  and  the  public  has  bemused  itself  with  so  much  canting 
make-believe,  and  has  thronged  with  such  eagerness  to  rubbishy  plays 
and  amusements,  that  we  have  no  right  to  suppose  that  ordinary 
civilians  have  been  transfigured  since  19 14.  Englishmen  returning 
home  from  Ruhleben  have  been  greatly  shocked  by  many  of  London's 
aspects;  and  at  the  beginning  of  19 18  a  noble  protest  was  written 
and  printed  by  a  veteran  genius,  Mr.  Frederic  Harrison,  who,  after 
five  years  in  Bath,  returned  to  London : — 

"How  odious  is  the  rush,  the  scramble,  the  roar  of  the  many  streets, — far 
worse  than  in  191 2.  ...  It  shocks,  wounds,  disgusts  me,  as  if,  with  the 
poet,  I  were  in  one  of  the  circles  of  the  Inferno.  Modern  mechanism  has 
brutalized  life.  And  in  this  rattle  and  clash  and  whirl,  wild  luxury,  games, 
shows,  gluttony  and  vice  work  their  Vanity  Fair  with  greater  recklessness 
than  ever.  As  I  walked  about  streets  blazing  with  gems  and  gold,  and 
every  form  of  extravagance,  I  asked  myself — and  is  this  the  war  for  very 
life  of  a  great  race  ?  If  the  Kaiser  could  come  and  see  it  all,  he  would  say, 
'I  shall  conquer  yet,  for  all  they  threaten  me!'"  * 

Even  a  little  imagination  would  make  such  silly  vice  impossible.  It 
would  bring  before  all  reputable  minds  the  exalted  sacrifice  shown  by 
young  men  from  day  to  day  and  month  to  month,  while  we  at  home 
benefit.  It  would  humble  us  into  reverence;  and  it  is  equally  true 
that  if  ordinary  men  and  women  are  to  possess  the  right  forethought 
and  the  right  magnanimous  sentiment,  those  who  are  not  ordinary, 
but  extraordinary  by  inborn  qualities,  must  set  and  keep  lofty  ex- 
amples. As  Lord  Morley  has  written:  "It  is  a  commonplace  that 
the  manner  of  doing  things  is  often  as  important  as  the  things  done. 
And  it  has  been  pointed  out  more  than  once  that  England's  most 
creditable  national  action  constantly  shows  itself  so  poor  and  mean 
in  expression  that  the  rest  of  Europe  can  discern  nothing  in  it  but 
craft  and  sinister  interest.    Our  public  opinion  is  often  rich  in  wisdom, 

*  Fortnightly  Review  for  January,  19 18. 
162 


hut  we  lack  the 
courage  of  our  wis- 
dom. "We  execute 
noble  achievements, 
and  then  are  best 
pleased  to  tind 
shabby  reasons  tor 
them."*  r'^i'''"- 
So  it  is  imperative 
to  cry  out  always 
for  a  quality  known 
as  grandeur,  and  also 
for  candour  and  pre- 
vision, qualities  that 
slay  cant  and  herald 
grandeur  alike  in 
thought  and  expres- 
sion and  action. 
Nearly  all  problems 
to  be  solved  after 
this  war's  ending — 
enormous  housing 
problems,  for  example,  and  habits  of  inferior  workmanship — take 
their  rise  from  a  talkative  self-deception  eager  to  be  gulled  by  phrases 
and  unwilling  to  be  worried  by  untoward  facts.  Year  after  year 
plain  duties  have  been  put  aside  as  of  no  account,  while  games  and 
other  amusements,  such  as  fads  and  illusions,  have  fired  our  national 
enthusiasm.  Work  has  not  been  viewed  as  fair  or  unfair  play  to  the 
nation's  present  and  future.  It  has  been  looked  on  as  a  thing  of 
wages  and  incomes,  accompanied  by  strikes,  much  slacking,  and  a 
vast  production  of  mere  rubbish. 

In  book  after  book  on  British  homes  I  have  put  these  facts  in  italics, 
and  to-day  Mr.  Glutton  Brock  makes  the  same  appeal  for  national 
honour  shown  in  reputable  workmanship.  Mr.  Brock  says  with 
blunt  candour:  "You  cannot  have  civilization  where  the  lives  of 
millions  are  sacrificed  to  produce  rubbish  for  thousands  who  do  not 
enjoy  it  when  it  is  produced.  That  means  a  perpetual  conflict  grow- 
ing always  more  bitter  until  it  leads  back  to  barbarism.  This  is  not 
a  political  matter,  and   it  cannot  be  settled  by  a  political  struggle. 


On  Compromise,  pp.  9- 10. 


163 


So  long  as  a  workman  has  to  produce  rubbish  he  will  not  be  satisfied 
with  his  work  or  with  his  life,  no  matter  how  large  his  wages  may 
be  or  how  short  his  hours.  .  .  ,  Therefore  the  public,  when  they 
buy  rubbish,  are  not  merely  wasting  their  own  money,  they  are 
wasting  also  the  lives  of  men  and  fomenting  a  profound  and  dangerous 
anger  against  themselves." 

For  thirty  years  I  have  worked  for  the  same  creed,  advocating  many 
practical  things.  For  example,  every  town  should  have  a  showroom 
where  the  best  work  done  by  the  town's  craftsmen  could  be  seen  and 
studied;  a»d  townsfolk  everywhere  should  be  organized  against  a 
dual  tyranny,  a  tyranny  of  excessive  rents  and  jerried  houses,  foisted 
upon  our  public  by  unfair  speculators,  who  are  often  aided  by  house 
agents.*  Men  of  genius  alone  can  lead  with  success  both  in  these 
and  in  other  needs;  they  should  begin  at  once  to  form  a  league  for 
the  common  good  and  to  make  fitting  plans.  The  Design  and  In- 
dustries Society  seems  to  be  a  vigorous  young  body  around  which 
they  should  rally,  and  each  should  add  to  the  common  stock  his  own 
experiences  of  public  neglect  and  official  blundering. 
Brangwyn's  experiences  would  be  invaluable.  Let  me  give  in  brief 
just  two  examples  chosen  from  many.  He  offered  to  do  as  a  gift  a 
large  decorative  painting  for  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum,  yet 
his  good  public  spirit,  which  in  France  would  have  been  welcomed 
with  joy  and  gratitude,  was  put  aside  by  bureaucratic  sleepiness. 
And  then  an  American  city  commissioned  him  to  paint  for  Cleveland 
Court  House,  Ohio,  a  great  series  of  historical  pictures !  Only  old- 
fogeyism  among  sleek  officials,  or  a  nation  that  has  passed  her  prime, 
would  send  our  Brangwyns  to  Panama  Exhibitions,  Cleveland  Court 
Houses,  and  other  foreign  places,  when  they  ought  to  be  collected 
for  Labour  Halls,  and  Seamen's  Clubs,  and  other  popular  institutions 
at  home.  Good  heavens !  Are  we  so  rich  in  brave  mural  paintings 
that  we  can  afford  to  send  a  rare  genius  to  colonize  among  other 
nations  ?  Is  national  welfare  never  to  have  a  fair  chance  ? 
Again,  for  a  long  time  Brangwyn  has  given  much  thought  to  many 
aspects  of  our  streets,  because  he  sees  clearly  that  the  decisive  test  of 
the  common  good  is  to  be  found — not  in  Acts  of  Parliament,  and  not  in 
words  written  and  spoken,  however  just  and  impassioned,  but — among 
outdoor  citizen  facts,  in  new  architecture  that  great  cities  accept,  and 

*  It  is  a  wrong  principle  that  grants  higher  pay  to  a  house  agent  who  helps  to  raise 
high  rents  or  to  keep  excessive  rents  from  falling.  House  agents  ought  to  serve 
householders,  and  their  pay  should  be  regulated  like  the  fees  of  family  doctors. 

164 


in  other  signs  and  tokens  of  street-bred  customs  and  manners,  such 
as  the  degree  of  Hking  shown  toward  venerable  buildings.  Phrases 
are  apt  either  to  rise  into  illusions  or  to  sink  into  popular  fudge, 
while  outdoor  facts  are  so  evident  as  witnesses  of  current  social 
character,  or  want  of  character,  that  even  blind  men  can  feel  their 
presence. 

More  than  once,  as  at  the  Coronation  of  King  George,  Brangwyn 
has  wished  to  show  his  solicitude  for  London  streets  by  fitting  some 
of  them  for  a  national  festival ;  but  his  zeal  in  this  direction  has  en- 
countered official  politeness,  delay,  evasion,  and  what  Milton  describes 
with  scorn  as  "a  queasy  temper  of  lukewarmness."  There  is  a  great 
deal  to  be  shaken  from  lethargy,  and  there  are  many  to  be  broomed 
out  of  office,  if  men  with  genius  are  to  be  free  to  act  as  doers  and 
inspirers  of  public  work  well  done. 


1 6s 


CHAPTER  XII      BRANGWYN,  LONDON,  &  NATIONAL 
WELFARE 


larly  in  191 7,  while  pressmen 
[raised  their  eyes  from  bad  war- 
maps  and  prattled  rosily  about 
spring  and  summer  campaigns,  I 
[took  a  holiday  for  about  five 
weeks  among  London's  minor  highways  and  meanest  byways.  Have 
you  tried  this  holiday  ?  It  is  good  enough  to  be  an  obligation  upon 
us  all,  and  especially  upon  Cabinet  Ministers  and  other  politicians, 
who  should  pass  through  its  many  lessons  before  they  ask  us  to  re- 
gard them  as  rulers  and  statesmen.  It  was  my  aim  to  see  what  men 
of  Brangwyn's  metal  might  do  for  the  capital  of  our  Empire  if  they 
held  a  Congress  year  by  year  and  told  frigid  truths  about  that  leprosy 
of  meanness,  that  sinister  populace  of  wretched  ill-bred  streets,  by 
which  our  city  is  hugely  blotched. 

Bleak  and  bad  weather  threw  its  chill  upon  me,  sometimes  damp 
like  a  half-frozen  sponge,  at  other  times  a  splashing  puddle  of  sticky 
mud;  and  now  and  then  it  was  foul  with  a  repulsive  mist  or  tenta- 
tive fog,  a  noisome  twilight  dishonouring  even  to  the  down-at-heel 
shabbiness  through  which  I  made  my  way  as  an  explorer  of  London's 
bad  workmanship. 

Here  and  there  was  a  fully  modernized  public-house,  a  flashing 
strumpet  in  Thirst's  own  realm,  plying  her  trade  with  a  gaudy  leer 
of  invitation.  Many  a  kinema  show  gathered  an  audience  too  poor 
to  be  clean,  yet  well  enough  off  to  be  swift  after  pleasure ;  and  many 
a  minor  highway,  broad,  noisy,  tumultuous,  and  reeking  with  shabby 
business,  was  multi-coloured  with  motor-'buses,  with  traffic  of  many 
sorts,  and  pleading  shop  windows,  all  overthronged  with  ill-arranged 
things  and  vainglorious  advertisements. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  intellect  anywhere,  but  just  an  automatic  rush 
and  roar,  with  a  peculiar  barbarity  all  its  own.  Had  true  Citizen- 
ship really  lost  even  that  personal  dignity  which  many  savages  keep 
in  Nature's  wild  presence.?  Had  it  become  a  mechanism  for  earning 
money  anyhow  by  means  of  rival  competitive  routines.?  Very  often 
pavements  were  blocked  with  competitors,  and  roadways  were  con- 
gested with  their  twin  tides  of  routine  movement,  causing  me  to 
think  of  human  bodies  when  phlebitis  clogs  their  veins.      But  yet  a 

166 


pilgrim  through  meaner  London  learns  very  soon  that  husier  high- 
ways are  least  educative,  having  so  much  in  common  that  they  are 
commonplace,  at  least  more  often  than  not.  Downgoing  districts 
and  byvs^ays  have  more  character,  as  a  rule,  more  personality;  and 
among  these  slums  I  found  many  examples  of  that  wastrclism  in 
brick  and  stone  and  poverty  that  our  overgrown  city  has  accumulated. 
Though  I  walked  at  random  wherever  I  could  see  dirt  and  gloom 
and  what  looked  like  the  depraved  picturesque,  not  an  adventure 
came  to  me.  Perhaps  a  shabby  overcoat  and  cap  gave  me  right  to 
go  anywhere  as  a  native ;  but  certain  it  is  that  I  received  no  insult, 
nor  did  I  see  much  drunkenness.  I  passed  through  so  many  housing 
problems,  new  and  old,  that  I  gambled  in  guineas  by  the  hundred 
million  when  I  tried  to  estimate  how  much  it  would  cost  to  lift  up 
the  seemingly  bathless  portions  of  meaner  London,  and  to  give  them 
for  disciplined  use  rational  decencies  of  a  true  home  life.  Our 
London  County  Council  would  do  useful  work  if  it  could  make 
known  as  a  public  penance  how  many  baths  London  houses  possess, 
and  how  many  times  they  are  used  weekly.  My  pilgrimage  took 
me  through  several  neighbourhoods  where  stench  from  a  crowd 
remained  as  acid  in  my  throat,  and  I  remembered  those  medical  men 
who,  when  examining  unclean  recruits  for  our  Army,  had  suffered 
too  much  through  their  noses  to  be  fit  for  their  diagnoses.  Dithy- 
rambs about  freedom  and  progress  are  all  very  well,  but  a  prelude  of 
cold  truth  about  soap  and  water  is  better  sense  and  patriotism. 
One  pretty  episode  full  of  pathos  I  did  see — in  a  foul  corner  of  a 
grimy  suburb.  Just  before  dark  I  came  upon  five  dirty  little  girls, 
not  more  than  six  or  seven  years  old,  who,  while  dancing  slowly  in 
a  circle,  shrilled  the  first  verse  of  "Onward,  Christian  Soldiers." 
The  wee  things  moved  like  clockwork  figures,  and  sang  like  gramo- 
phones; no  feeling  lit  up  their  worn  faces;  and  their  circular  dance 
went  on  and  on,  with  a  quiet  sedate  rhythm,  until  some  pennies  put 
buns  and  toffee  into  their  minds.  How  had  it  come  to  pass  that,  in 
the  year  a.d.  19 17,  and  in  the  wealthiest  city  of  the  wealthiest 
Empire,  I  should  find  these  half-starved  children  and  their  drotchel 
suburb,  while  a  thousand  noisepapers  and  more  boasted  over  mys- 
terious things  called  civilization  and  freedom.?  And  thought  being 
as  free  as  wind,  I  wanted  to  know  why  a  nation  that  looked  on  at 
strikes  while  a  war  was  raging  to  preserve  her  life,  had  never  known 
a  down-at-heel  district  which  put  aside  its  tools  for  the  orderly  pur- 
pose of  advertising  its  vile  lot  as  an  outcast  from  proper  citizenship. 

167 


II 


For  a  long  time  I  feared  to  summon  before  my  mind,  in  sharp  focus, 
a  great  many  horrid  impressions,  and  this  fear  of  seeing  hateful  truth 
clearly  had  its  rise  among  several  harrowing  things. 
I  had  seen  far  too  much  that  was  tainted  and  unsound,  and  pregnant 
with  ill-omened  prospects.  Day  after  day  a  most  untoward  word 
came  into  my  mind,  a  descriptive  word  that  patriotism  rebels  against 
fiercely,  because  it  is  to  living  affairs  and  a  body  social  what  the 
word  putrescent  is  to  dead  bodies.  If  eye-evidence  compels  us  to 
believe  that  big  parts  of  a  capital  city  are  decadent,  how  can  we  help 
feeling  that  decadence  is  in  complete  antagonism  with  our  country's 
future  .?  But  when  I  knew  that  homecomers  from  Ruhleben  were 
startled  by  many  of  London's  aspects,  and  that  Mr.  Frederic  Harri- 
son had  put  into  plain  words  his  disenchantment,  I  drew  together 
into  a  ground-plan  my  facts  and  impressions.  Things  that  foretell 
nothing  at  all  good  cannot  be  examined  too  soon,  since  an  autopsy  is 
apt  to  come  if  a  correct  diagnosis  be  put  off  too  long. 
As  I  went  from  a  gloomy  neighbourhood  to  a  sluttish  district,  and 
watched  the  cringing  zeal  with  which  edition  after  edition  of  our 
incessant  noisepapers  trafficked  for  pennies  with  scraps  of  war  news 
headlined  and  magnified,  it  seemed  to  me  that  business  was  baseborn 
cynicism.  Since  then,  from  a  large  poster.  Sir  William  Robertson 
has  asked  the  people  not  to  put  overmuch  trust  in  material  chariots 
and  horses,  and  Sir  David  Beatty,  following  Lord  Roberts,  has  pleaded 
for  reverence  and  a  spirit  that  prays.  Not  a  trace  of  such  thought- 
fulness  did  I  meet  with  anywhere  in  my  wayfaring. 
Poster  after  poster,  in  words  of  journalese  either  too  smugly  clever, 
or  flamboyant  and  odious,*  missed  the  heart  and  soul  of  a  vast  war 
for  life.  Let  us  hope  that  only  few  of  our  war  posters  will  be 
delivered  down  to  historians.  Apart  from  some  pictorial  appeals, 
among  which  Brangwyn's  come  easily  first,  our  national  efforts  by 
poster  and  placard  have  been  generally  wasteful  and  confusing,  at  times 
frenzied  and  degrading,  and  too  often  mawkish  and  self-righteous. 
Democracy  was  to  be  wooed  and  won  by  coaxing,  soothing,  plead- 
ing, shrieking,  and  cringing. 

Each  of  us  must  judge  from  his  own  experience  what  effects  were 
produced  by  pouring  tropical  journalism  into   placards  and  posters 

*  An  example  must  be  given.  Here  are  four  poster  questions  addressed  by  self- 
righteous  cant  to  the  Women  of  England,  when  "our  liveliest  publicity  men"  and 
"  our  most  astute  party  managers  "  were  trying  not  only  to  show  the  world  "  what  free- 

168 


WAK     CAKTODS-  :     "   OFF    TO    TlllC     I  KONT." 


for  our  streets.  Often  the  well-to-do  tried  to  believe  that  perhaps, 
atter  all,  democracy  might  need  such  appeals;  but  they  were  wrong 
as  a  rule.  It  is  the  half-illiterate,  not  the  genuine  poor,  on  whom 
good  work  with  its  quiet  candour  and  honesty  makes  but  little  im- 
pression. Artists  of  every  sort  would  much  sooner  try  to  influence 
a  pubHc  of  genuine  poor  than  try  to  sway  with  their  best  work 
either  the  half-illiterate  or  society  dilettante  split  up  into  groups  and 
sects.  Poor  folk  were  not  often  attracted  by  screaming  and  caddish- 
ness  from  bad  posters.  As  Mr.  F.  S.  Oliver  has  said:  "The  simplest 
and  least  sophisticated  minds  are  often  the  severest  critics  in  matters 
of  taste  as  well  as  morals.  And  this  [poster  propaganda]  was  a 
matter  of  both.  Among  townspeople  as  well  as  countryfolk  there 
were  many  who — whether  they  believed  or  disbelieved  in  the  urgent 
need,  whether  they  responded  to  the  appeal  or  did  not  respond  to 
it — regarded  the  whole  of  this  'publicity  campaign'  with  distrust 
and  dislike,  as  a  thing  which  demoralised  the  country,  which  was 
revolting  to  its  honour  and  conscience,  and  in  which  the  King's 
name  ought  never  to  have  been  used." 

From  this  antithesis  of  true  art,  this  diffused  weak  judgment,  have 
come  many  mistakes  in  propaganda,  statecraft,  and  social  discipline. 
Consider  three : 

I.  It  was  believed  that  journalism,  either  flaming  or  hysterical, 
would  be  much  nearer  to  democracy  than  art  in  cool  and  quiet  man- 
agement— that  is,  than  sound  work  done  with  judgment  and  pride 
tor  given  purposes  and  known  places.  So  art  and  artists  were  gener- 
ally snubbed  and  flouted. 

born  Englishmen  would  stand,"  but  also  what  freeborn  Englishwomen  must  do  if  they 

wished  to  save  Government  from  the  perils  of  governing  boldly  and  wisely  : — 

"  I.   You  have  read  what  the  Germans  have  done  in  Belgium.     Have  you  thought  what 

they  would  do  if  they  invaded  England .'' 

"  2.  Do  you  realise  that  the  safety  of  your  Home  and  Children  depends  on  our  getting 

more  men  now  ? 

"  3.  Do  you  realise  that  the  one  word  '  Go'  from  you  may  send  another  man  to  fight  for 

our  King  and  our  Country  ? 

"  4.  When  the  War  is  over  and  your  husband  or  your  son  is  asked  '  What  did  you  do 

in  the  great  War  ? ' — is  he  to  hang  his  head  because  you  would  not  let  him  go  ^ 

"  Women  of  England !     Do  your  duty  !     Send  your  men  to-day  to  join  our  glorious 

Army." 

Was  there  ever  before  in  this  world  such  caddish  appeals  during  a  war  for  a  great 

nation's  life  ?     To  coerce  women  by  posters  rather  than  use  an  equable  compulsion 

ordered  by  Parliament  for  the  purpose  of  enlisting  men  fairly  !     What  will  historians 

think  and  say  ?     Will  they  like  our  wondrous  national  virtue  as  volunteers  in  a  noble 

and  peremptory  cause .'' 

z  169 


2.  It  was  believed  that  words,  inevitably,  were  more  democratic 
than  form  and  colour  and  fit  design,  as  if  our  nation's  memory  for 
words  were  boundless. 

3.  And  it  was  believed,  too,  that  our  streets  were — not  open-air 
exhibitions  of  concrete  workmanship,  in  which  worthy  pictorial 
appeals  had  an  increasing  value,  but — mere  offshoots  of  our  noise- 
paper  press. 

Artists  of  every  sort  were  most  eager  to  help  as  orderly  and  reason- 
able patriots,  but  the  tyranny  of  words,  words,  words,  held  office. 
For  instance,  a  Committee  of  Architects,  who  represented  their 
profession  entirely,  prepared  a  scheme  for  building  military  huts, 
with  able  men  of  known  name  attached  to  it  for  all  districts  in 
Great  Britain;  but  this  work  had  one  drawback.  It  was  not  an 
apotheosis  of  amateur  much  ado  and  haste ;  it  was  only  a  work  of 
true  art,  thorough,  entirely  fit  for  its  purpose,  and  therefore  as  frugal 
in  its  costs  as  it  could  be  made  without  ceasing  to  be  the  sound  and 
appropriate  work  called  art.  When  delivered  at  the  right  quarters 
this  fine  scheme  was  praised;  and  yet  officials  made  no  use  of  its 
excellence,  though  military  huts  were  built  by  hundreds.     Let  soldiers 

declare  how,  and  officials  at 
what  cost.  To  be  employed 
by  those  who  rule,  or  misrule, 
you  must  be  of  their  company. 
How  often  in  modernized 
affairs  do  bounce  and  brag 
displace  brain  and  honest  work- 
manship ? 

Again,  Brangwyn  was  eager  to 
fix  his  mind  upon  doing  fit 
recruiting  posters  as  a  gift  in 
national  service,  so  he  tried  to 
bring  his  desire  to  Lord  Kit- 
chener's notice.  With  what 
result.?  He  was  told  to  apply 
to  the  advertisement  depart- 
ment of  our  War  Office.  Ad- 
vertisement departments  are 
right  enough  for  pills,  soaps, 
jerried  furniture,  dead  editions 

170 


of  encyclopa'dias,  and  other  selling  virtues  in  need  of  electrical 
overpraise;  but  a  great  nation's  grapple  for  life  needs  untiring  thought 
with  candour,  truth,  dignity,  true  inspiration,  and  some  other  quali- 
ties also  that  "the  livest  publicity  men"  don't  welcome  often  as 
marketable  blandishments.  To  send  a  great  artist  to  a  publicity 
department  is  like  asking  a  Tennyson  to  write  puffs  on  Green  Gloves 
for  Girls  of  Garrulous  and  Gracious  Forty,  or  Scarlet  Soaps  for 
Sinners,  Sane  and  Insane. 

Even  our  War  Correspondents  have  caught  the  publicity  craze, 
collecting  oddments  of  news  likely  to  glut  a  morbid  appetite,  while 
harrowing  anxious  and  thoughtful  persons.  They  have  written 
columns  each  during  a  day's  fight,  and  have  told  us  daily  what  we  all 
know — that  our  troops  are  as  brave  as  their  forerunners,  and  thus  as 
brave  as  the  brave  can  be;  while  they  have  put  out  of  mind  the 
need  of  war  perspective  and  the  imperative  duty  of  teaching  us  to 
weigh  and  measure  our  foe's  generalship  and  his  fighting  power. 
All  along  the  line,  in  fact,  publicity  has  implied  that  a  war  for  life 
must  be  connected  somehow  with  kinema  shows  and  the  sale  ot 
patent  medicines,  though  the  greatest  peril  of  war  is  that  it  sets  in 
action  cerebral  disturbances  harmful  to  cool  thought  and  right 
balance. 

If  the  publicity  campaign  had  been  put  under  the  control  of  true 
artists — painters,  sculptors,  architects,  men  of  letters,  and  some  women 
of  genius  also — no  flamboyant  and  crapulous  methods  would  have 
been  tolerated,  and  our  native  land  would  not  be  ashamed  to  hand 
on  to  posterity  how  and  what  her  people  advertised  while  fighting 
for  her  life  as  a  free  old  nation. 

How  can  it  ever  be  wise  to  banish  our  national  dignity  into  a  Barnum 
show?  Even  Whistler's  portrait  of  his  Mother — a  great  act  of  filial 
piety,  which  seems  too  private  to  be  well  placed  even  among  master- 
pieces in  a  public  museum — was  turned  into  a  war  poster,  so  eager 
were  "the  livest  publicity  men"  to  flaunt  their  peacebred  vulgarity. 
Yet  Mr.  Lovat  Eraser,  a  devotee  of  candour,  has  deplored  with  a 
certain  surprise  the  wonderful  capacity  for  self-deception  which  our 
country  has  exercized  since  August,  19 14.  Nearly  all  self-deception 
has  come,  and  come  inevitably,  from  journalism  and  its  offshoot  in- 
fluences. 


171 


Ill 

A  wit  has  said  that  things  exquisitely  English  are  almost  sure  to  be 
entirely  irrational,  whether  we  see  them  in  fights  against  huge  odds 
or  in  national  delay,  indecision,  and  what  not  besides.  As  we  make 
in  war  a  game  fight  for  life  while  keeping  our  old  strikes  between 
labour  and  capital,  so  among  municipal  affairs  we  are  overapt  to  halt 
waveringly,  yet  complacently,  in  a  zone  parting  "never  mind"  from 
civic  pride  and  probity.  It  is  a  matter  of  bad  custom,  and  often  it 
makes  fools  of  us  all. 

Beaconsfield  mocked  at  the  intermittent  zest  with  which  London 
had  muddled  her  opportunities  when  she  had  tried  to  ennoble  her- 
self by  means  of  building  enterprise  by  Act  of  Parliament.  Let  us 
hope  that  his  banter  and  ridicule  will  be  used  as  guides,  when,  the 
war  ended  and  renovation  begun,  town  after  town  will  try  to  keep 
labour  strife  as  far  off  as  possible  by  attacking  many  benighted  housing- 
perils,  though  abnormal  prices  for  building  materials  will  rule.  Since 
we  scorned  with  dismay  the  need  of  putting  into  Lord  Roberts's 
plans  a  national  life  insurance  of  only  five  or  ten  millions  a  year* 
there  may  be  a  grave  official  wish  after  this  war  to  get  health  and 
safety  from  some  attitude  of  charming  folly  in  wrong  thrift  towards 
our  national  housing  affairs.  To  advocate,  with  plausible  business 
pleas,  the  scamping  of  vast  jobs  for  the  people  is  easier  than  to  bring 
into  dominant  favour  the  art  of  earning  all  the  good  that  can  be  won 
out  of  civic  and  national  reforms,  because  ordinary  minds  are  at  ease 
with  hole-and-corner  ideas,  reasons,  arguments,  plans;  and  after  this 
war,  of  course,  money  will  be  "tight,"  as  some  hundreds  of  millions 
a  year,  for  who  knows  how  many  generations,  will  be  spent  merely 
as  interest  upon  debts  incurred  since  19 14. 

There  may  be  a  tough  effort  by  civil  engineers  to  settle  themselves 
among  housing  problems  between  architects  and  our  people's  welfare. 
They  are  able  men  of  their  own  affairs,  these  engineers;  alert,  con- 
fident, patient,  bluntly  persuasive,  crisply  suave ;  and  if  they  wish  to 
show  that  they  can  do  overmuch  with  too  little  and  for  not  enough, 
they  have  a  case  around  which  they  can  spin  webs  of  seductive 
figures ;  but  their  successful  diplomacy  would  be  a  bad  thing  indeed 
for  work  that  counts  as  cottage  and  street  architecture.  What  we 
need,  no  doubt,  is  a  Board  of  True  Artists,  with  first-rate  architects 
to  have  most  sway  within  their  own  provinces;  and  we  need  also  a 

*  At  present  (September,  1918)  daily  costs  of  the  war  come  to  about  ;£^7,ooo,ooo ! 
Was  the  act  of  defeating  Lord  Roberts's  foresight  costly  enough .'' 

172 


\\.\i;  rosiicu;   ■    liKiiihii  iK'joi's  occurv  dixmuije. 


small  Committee  of  True  Artists 
not  only  to  pass  judgment  once  a 
year  on  London's  aspects,  but  also 
to  read  its  verdict,  with  its  pro- 
posals, at  a  Congress  open  to 
citizens  chosen  to  represent  all 
districts.  And  other  cities  and 
towns  need  Watch  Committees  ot 
this  good  sort.  Not  a  town  among 
those  that  live  and  toil  amid  our 
industrialized  stress  and  strain  has 
a  general  citizenship  at  all  wide- 
awake toward  streets  as  art 
museums  for  the  people,  where 
there  should  ever  be  a  scrupulous 
regard  for  good  work  put  in  places 
where  its  fitness  will  be  a  public 
joy  and  a  benefit.  A  public  joy ; 
for  we  need  not  be  chilled  by  the 
common  belief  that  most  eyes  and  most  minds  care  not  at  all 
how  much  civic  patchwork  and  muddle  be  kept  in  vogue.  Though 
most  people  grow  into  bad  surroundings,  and  custom  reconciles 
most  of  us  to  bad  habits,  yet  a  change  from  bad  to  good  among 
outward  things  and  prospects  makes  its  coming  instantly  felt  by  that 
inward  life  which  is  best  worth  living.  Even  caged  birds  love  their 
improved  lot  if  you  take  them  from  a  dull,  chill  room  into  a  sunny 
one.  And  as  long  as  human  creatures  feel  sunlight  with  joy,  they 
have,  and  will  keep,  a  capacity  to  improve,  however  sapped  by  un- 
toward influences  their  high  interests  may  be. 

Londoners  have  one  great  foe  in  their  climate  and  another  in  their 
citizen  character,  which  is  diffused  among  many  big  townships  and 
village  communities  by  which  our  scattered  nation-city  is  made  up 
loosely.  A  climate  bleak  and  wet,  and  often  misty  (when  it  is  not 
soot-laden  into  fog),  is  in  need  of  every  ordered  gaiety  that  wise 
management  can  get  from  colour — colour  in  architecture,  in  well- 
dressed  shop-windows,  and  well-chosen  posters,  in  letter-boxes  also, 
and  metal  standards  for  electric  light,  in  'buses,  motor-cars  and  trams, 
and  in  everything  else  where  good  taste  can  be  active  as  a  public 
need  and  boon  under  proper  guidance  from  true  artists  like  Brangwyn 
and  Lutyens      With  a  general  improvement  in  colour  aspects  and 


architectural  aspects  of  London's  streets  there  will  come,  and  come 
inevitably,  a  general  improvement  in  citizen  feeKng  for  London  as  a 
whole.  At  present  she  is  an  enormous  overgrown  disunity  of  shreds 
and  patches;  and  also  a  place  where  a  small  income  is  often  tragical, 
as  it  cannot  well  afford  to  pay  an  average  rent,  with  season  tickets, 
'bus  fares,  and  so  forth. 

Yet  these  and  other  urgent  matters  are  generally  skipped  over  by 
those  who  write  and  talk  with  fluent  ease  about  improving  London. 
Most  reformers  are  apt  to  think  that  castles  in  the  air  are  more  ador- 
able than  rude  spadework  among  workaday  facts  and  evident  needs 
grown  decrepit  after  long  neglect.  Reformers  improve,  or  try  to 
improve,  the  better  parts  of  London ;  are  eager  even  to  prattle  about 
beautifying  our  parks  and  public  gardens,  which  bestow  on  London 
all  the  sweet  air  freshness  with  which  she  smiles  fitfully  upon  us ; 
but  how  often  do  they  shock  their  gentle  sstheticism  by  visiting 
slums  and  taked  suburbs  and  those  sere,  gloomy  districts  where  in- 
dustrialism has  set  up  her  quarters?  Let  improvement  begin  where 
it  is  wanted  most  of  all,  namely,  in  those  places  where  little  incomes 
and  the  poor  make  shift. 


IV 


So  a  Watch  Committee  of  True  Artists  would  have  a  great  many 
things  to  weigh  and  tneasure  during  annual  motor  journeys  through 
London,  accompanied  by  several  photographers  to  collect  camera 
facts  to  be  shown  at  a  yearly  Congress.  Let  us  suppose  that  this 
committee  included  Brangwyn,  Lutyens,  Derwent  Wood,  and  four 
or  five  other  men  of  genius  who  link  art  with  our  common  lot.  Of 
course  I  don't  say  that  this  Watch  Committee  is  at  all  possible.  Too 
well  do  I  know,  after  thirty-eight  years  in  the  strife  of  art,  how 
the  reunion  of  art  with  the  people  and  the  people  with  art  is  hindered 
by  twin  evils. 

First,  most  authority  over  London's  art  has  been  annexed  by  narrow 
little  sects,  whose  placemen  find  their  way  into  all  posts  of  honour  in 
public  galleries  and  museums,  and  whose  pride  is  envious  when 
earnest  men  outside  their  aims  win  and  wield  some  influence.  There 
are  even  officials  in  public  galleries  who  write  for  noisepapers  about 
matters  that  affect  the  art  markets.  They  call  themselves  art  critics, 
in  fact,  forgetting  that  no  public  servant  has  a  moral  right  to  influence 
the  rise  and  fall  of  prices  by  reviewing  the  work  produced  by 
living  men,  men  with  families  to  rear  and  debts  to  be  paid  weekly 

"74 


and  quarterly.  No  official  in  our  Treasury  would  be  allowed  to  write 
for  the  Press  on  stocks  and  shares  and  companies;  no  official  in  our 
Foreign  Office  would  dare  to  give  tips  in  the  Press  to  financial 
gamblers;  and  physicians  have  to  give  up  private  practice  as  soon  as 
they  become  Medical  Officers  of  Health.  So  it  is  utterly  wrong 
that  any  man  in  a  public  museum  should  write  on  current  art  for 
the  Press.  There's  no  law  to  compel  him  to  be  a  servant  of  the 
State,  and  he  should  be  far  too  busy  in  his  official  duties  to  have 
time  and  physical  energy  for  another  profession  also.  His  writings 
should  be  published  by  his  department  and  should  be  sold  at  cost 
prices,  or  nearly  so,  for  the  people's  benefit.  More  than  once  I  have 
protested  in  print  against  this  evil.  When  are  the  societies  of  art 
going  to  act  for  our  common  good  ? 

Then  there  are  certain  groups  of  old  fogeys — not  all  old  fogeys  are 
elderly,  remember,  nor  aged — who  get  themselves  upon  art  com- 
mittees, and  as  naturally  as  oil  circulates  through  grime  on  rusty 
locks.  They  have  had  long  practice  among  devious  tactics  of  talk, 
talk,  talk.  An  international  exhibition  sets  them  agog  with  suave 
fuss  and  flurry  (perhaps  a  Knighthood  may  be  won);  and  if  they 
wish  to  entangle  a  committee  in  a  labyrinth  of  heated  argument  they 
know  how  to  be  as  troublesome  as  they  are  smooth  and  polite  and 
adept.  In  brief,  they  are  stock  committeemen  by  nature  and  training. 
Still,  we  can  do  no  harm  if  we  suppose  that  a  good  Watch  Committee, 
with  Brangwyn  and  Lutyens  as  essential  to  it,  can  be  formed.  Let 
us  sum  up,  very  briefly,  some  of  its  work. 

Take  the  question  of  colour  in  architecture.  William  Dc  Morgan 
gave  much  thought  to  this  matter, 
and  Halsey  Ricardo,  among  others, 
has  made  valuable  experiments 
along  right  lines ;  but,  of  course, 
good  ideas  must  be  ordered  into  a 
growing  system  if  they  are  to 
have  any  progressive  influence 
upon  our  streets.  Lustred  tiles  for 
roofs  merit  wide  consideration,  for 
rain  would  keep  them  clean,  and 
architects  would  be  inspired  to 
build  higher  roofs,  and  to  put 
concordant  notes  of  colour  in 
walls  and  windows  and  woodwork. 


^IS 


Several  sculptors  have  done  in  colour  some  very  able  ornamental  slabs, 
with  strong  incised  lines  and  a  decorative  charm  full  of  breadth ;  and 
this  and  similar  work  would  enrich  many  street  buildings,  and  it  would 
call  attention  also  to  the  sort  of  business  that  a  big  firm  carries  on. 
A  shipping  office,  for  instance,  should  be  known  at  once  as  a  shipping 
office ;  a  Board  of  Trade  should  bear  on  its  facade  decorative  signs 
and  tokens  of  its  duties ;  and  this  right  suggestion  applies  also  to  a 
War  Office  and  the  Admiralty  of  a  great  naval  Power. 
To  be  inapposite  is  to  be  weak  and  small;  it  slackens  moral  fibre 
and  weakens  a  public  feeling  for  public  duty  and  high  interests.  We 
possess  naval  traditions  the  substantial  elements  of  whose  power  are  as 
majestic  as  they  are  far-flung  over  troubled  centuries.  Yet  Londoners 
are  not  astounded  that  they  have  no  heroic  building  that  belongs 
evidently  and  with  imperial  art  to  their  Navy  and  her  traditions. 
Are  they  ashamed  to  be  apposite  and  therefore  great  and  free .?  And 
note  how  Westminster  Abbey  has  been  rejected  as  the  cardinal  key- 
note for  all  buildings  in  her  neighbourhood.  Where  the  Aquarium 
stood  as  an  eyesore,  an  edifice  has  been  built  with  pride  by  Non- 
conformists, but  for  what  purpose  none  could  guess  from  anything 
apposite  in  its  architecture.  Yes,  a  Watch  Committee  of  true  artists 
would  have  much  to  say  about  the  patching  of  patchwork  London. 
Take  the  lighting  of  our  streets  as  another  example.  What  a  chance 
we  have  missed  here  for  a  great  revival  of  English  metal-work,  both 
cast  and  wrought !  We  have  a  glorious  light  that  could  shine  in 
peacetime  through  other  substances  besides  glass;  thus  Alexander 
Fisher  could  apply  one  phase  of  his  beautiful  enamel  to  the  globes 
of  electric-light  standards;  and  what  is  there  to  stop  well-to-do 
households  from  lighting  their  streets  in  the  aptest  manner  possible? 
They  could  ask  a  Brangwyn  to  design  metal  standards,  and  a  Fisher 
to  make  enamelled  globes ;  could  have  the  standards  cast  or  wrought 
by  first-rate  men;  and  their  district  would  gladly  accept  the  finished 
work  as  a  gift  to  good  citizenship.  Then  householders  in  some 
other  streets  would  follow  a  good  example,  taking  care  to  suit  their 
needs  in  a  manner  concordant  with  the  height  of  their  houses  and 
the  dominant  note  of  style  in  their  streets'  architecture.  At  present 
we  get  a  dead  routine  in  the  place  of  workmanship  that  lives ;  mere 
metal  instead  of  true  art.  Dull  metal  standards  of  the  same  sort  and 
size,  as  a  rule,  stand  in  streets  with  low  houses  and  in  streets  with 
tall  houses ;  no  fitness  appears  in  their  colour,  or  in  the  design  that 
they  show  before  great  styles  of  architecture.    And  why?     Is  it  not 

176 


ORPHELINAT 

DESARMEES 


TITS  OIRPHELIN 
LE  FOYER  ""^TENDRESSE  MATERNELLE 
L' EDUCATION^"  PAYS.  UNE  CARRIERE 
APPROPRIEE  A  CHAQUE  ENFANT.  LA 
RELIGION  DE  LEURS  PERES  i^S^^& 


WAR    rO^IKK  :     ORrilUMNAT     DKS     AintLKS. 


because  they  come  from  an  official  system,  a  municipal  routine  with 
little  more  aspiration  in  it  than  would  clog  the  foot  of  a  flea? 
Cardinal  Newman  made  gentle  game  of  that  very  "safe"  man  who 
adores  mistiness  as  the  mother  of  wisdom;  who  cannot  set  down 
half  a  dozen  general  propositions  which  escape  from  destroying  one 
another  unless  he  dilutes  them  into  truisms;  who  holds  the  balance 
between  opposites  so  adeptly  as  to  do  without  fulcrum  or  beam; 
who  never  enunciates  a  truth  without  hinting  that,  as  a  person  full 
of  discretion,  he  cannot  exclude  the  contradictory ;  and  who  feels  he 
is  marked  out  by  Providence  to  guide  a  naughty  world  through 
narrow  channels  of  no  meaning,  between  the  Scylla  and  Charybdis 
of  Aye  and  No.  This  dear  man,  wonderfully  sober,  most  astutely 
temperate,  ploddingly  dull  and  insincere,  is  the  man  that  feels  at 
home  among  official  routines  ;  and  his  multiplicity  accounts  for  our 
civic  woes.  He  is  the  widespread  foe  that  a  Watch  Committee  of 
true  artists  would  bump  up  against,  only  to  find  that  he  yielded  like 
rubber  and  recovered  as  alertly. 

He  would  recover  with  a  certain  recoil  of  fierceness  if  candid  remarks 
were  made  to  him  about  slatternly  displays  all  over  London  of  scream- 
ing and  pleading  self-advertisers;  for  this  very  "safe"  man  is  certain 
that  a  great  capital  city  exists — not  as  a  well-ordered  legacy  to  be 
handed  on,  with  fine  improvements,  to  every  new  generation,  but — 
as  a  mere  hurly-burly  for  all  who  wish  to  flaunt  their  self-praise  in 
streets,  and  fields,  and  against  our  unoffisnding  sun,  moon,  and  stars. 
No  wonder  Brangwyn  is  amazed  by  the  zeal  with  which  London  is 
defamed  by  business  as  usual,  by  the  riotously  precipitate  self-praise 
of  salesmen,  who  harm  our  streets  and  the  sky  without  paying  even 
a  tiny  tax  to  a  city  for  which  they  have  no  true  liking. 
Not  even  a  motor-'bus  nor  a  railway  station  should  be  free  to  do  just 
what  its  owners  think  profitable  with  a  display  of  jumbled  placards, 
posters,  and  other  advertising.  It  is  part  and  parcel  of  our  city,  and 
dependent  on  our  city  for  every  penny  that  it  earns;  therefore  it 
should  be  wisely  controlled  by  good  taste,  and  this  good  taste  ought 
to  be  a  municipal  affiiir  under  the  guidance  af  true  artists.  As  for 
public  advertising  of  shoddy  wares  it  ought  to  be  forbidden,  of  course, 
and  for  three  sufficient  reasons.  To  make  shoddy  is  to  debase  work- 
men;  to  debase  workmen  is  to  injure  our  people,  present  and  future; 
and  to  sell  shoddy  by  advertising  is  as  bad  as  to  sell  shares  in  a  bogus 
mine  by  public  appeal  sanctioned  by  our  city  and  by  Parliament. 
Daily  papers  are  very  culpable  in  this  matter,  like  our  municipalities. 

2    A  177 


They  have  city  editors  on  the  look-out  always  for  company  sharks 
and  isolated  pike.  Have  they  city  editors  also  to  keep  guard  over 
the  probity  of  advertising?  No.  They  advertise  for  large  fees 
almost  any  shoddy  that  is  not  bestial  and  lewd.  Indeed,  as  often  as 
not  it  is  the  shoddy-makers  who  advertise  most  profusely,  because 
rates  of  payment  for  advertising  are  too  high  to  be  paid  by  those 
who  invest  money  enough  in  good  work  quite  fit  for  its  purpose. 
And  another  point  to  be  stressed  is  the  fact,  usually  forgotten,  that 
advertisers  pay  for  the  cost  of  their  headlong  self-praise  only  when 
their  advertising  fails.  When  it  succeeds  buyers  "foot  the  bill,"  as 
advertising  belongs  to  costs  of  production.  Consider,  then,  how 
anti-social  it  is  to  permit  free  trade  in  advertising  King  Jerry  and  his 
ebullient  zeal. 

As  soon  as  all  ethical  aspects  of  this  grave  national  matter  are  well 
grasped  by  townsfolk,  advertising  of  every  sort  will  be  put  under  fair 
discipline  and  will  pay  to  towns  or  to  our  State  a  proper  tax  for  the 
use  it  makes  of  our  streets,  fields,  skies,  stations,  and  what  not  besides. 
Our  newspaper  press  should  pay  a  tax  on  every  column  of  advertising 
matter  that  it  circulates,  and  should  be  responsible  to  the  Board  of 
Trade  if  it  accepts  payment  in  order  to  help  those  who  sell  trash 
with  lures  of  words  and  pictures. 

Yet  these  matters  are  only  the  beginning  of  order  in  a  good  fight 
for  our  streets  and  other  public  places.  A  knighthood  granted  for 
modest  veracity  from  an  advertiser  would  be  a  great  boon  to  our 
common  good.  Here  and  there  a  modest  and  a  truthful  advertiser 
is  to  be  found,  by  rare  good  fortune.  Recently  Brangwyn  has  done 
several  posters  for  a  firm  that  has  no  more  wish  to  work  miracles 
than  to  pretend  to  be  Shakespeare.  It  is  content  just  to  put 
its  goods  quietly  before  the  people  in  decorative  drawings  to  which 
very  few  words  are  attached ;  and  these  few  words  give  simple 
facts  modestly,  not  pleading  lures  noisily. 

But  there  should  be  special  places  for  posters  of  this  good  sort — and, 
indeed,  of  every  sort ;  and  these  places  should  be  designed  by  our 
best  architects,  built  by  our  municipalities,  and  hired  at  reasonable 
fees  to  men  of  business  after  posters  and  placards  have  been  accepted 
for  publication  by  proper  official  judges.  Let  there  be  an  end  of 
go-as-you-please  ;  of  wild  licence,  with  negligence  from  public 
opinion,  and  hubbub  and  lies  from  a  great  many  advertisers.  How 
can  a  city  respect  herself  when  her  people  don't  take  care  of  her? 
Is  she  a  trumpery  bazaar  for  any  and  every  person  who  increases  the 
178 


cost  price  of  his  wares  by  bawling  self-praise  from  megaphone 
hoardings  and  scrap-album  motor-'buses  ?  Is  industrial  strife,  called 
business  as  usual,  to  harden  into  a  fixed  routine,  with  never  a  protest 
from  citizen  high  thought  and  right  feeling?  Let  us  have  as  soon 
as  we  can  a  great  Board  of  True  Artists,  and  a  Watch  Committee 
with  a  will  to  be  thorough. 

One  aim  in  thoroughness,  as  Brangwyn  argues,  would  be  the  emi- 
gration of  poster  design  from  Trade  to  History,  from  lures  put  before 
buyers  to  appeals  made  to  patriots.  For  children  and  our  striking 
classes,  youngsters  of  an  older  growth  in  wild  oats,  cannot  see  in  our 
streets  and  public  places  too  many  fine  posters  and  pictures  wherein 
noble  and  inspiriting  deeds  from  our  history — naval,  military,  social, 
industrial,  and  philanthropic — are  made  real  with  a  passion  as  easy 
for  all  folk  to  feel  and  grasp  as  a  play  well  acted.  Dr.  Augustus 
Jessopp  proved  years  ago,  by  his  beautiful  serene  talks  in  most  able 
addresses,  that  the  English  people  are  not  dull  toward  great  history 
when  they  find  a  chatty,  charming  teacher — a  voice  from  bygone 
times  in  a  big  soul  of  to-day.  And  what  words  can  do,  this  and 
more  can  be  done  by  historical  posters  in  our  streets  if  they  are 
drawn  and  coloured  by  artists  of  Brangwyn's  metal.  Every  naval 
battle  from  our  country's  drama  should  be  present  in  all  minds  as  a 
series  of  pictures  gathered  from  national  appeals  by  posters,  for 
example,  since  we  are  what  we  are  because  our  seamen  in  their 
brave  deeds  have  always  been  magnificently  loyal  to  Our  Lady  of 
the  Sea,  to  whom  Henley  sang  with  the  right  militancy : — 

"  England,  my  England  : — 
Take  and  break  us  :  we  are  yours, 

England,  my  own  ! 
Life  is  good,  and  joy  runs  high 
Between  English  earth  and  sky ; 
Death  is  death ;  but  we  shall  die 
To  the  song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England,  my  own  ! — 
To  the  stars  on  your  bugles  blown  !  " 

Oh  !  If  only  we  civilian  English  were  worthy  of  historic  England  ! 
If  only  we  had  that  vim  in  self-denial  that  our  seamen  and  soldiers 
take  with  their  duty  into  hopes  forlorn — and  into  hopes  made  real  ! 
Who  can  see,  without  an  emotion  quite  near  to  tears,  the  sere  dis- 
tricts that  London  has  collected,  or  those  Victorian  and  sinister 
*'  hives  of  industry  "  which  have  devoured  many  a  thousand  acres 

179 


from  England's  green  lusty  fields,  where  joy  long  ran  high  between 
English  earth  and  sky  ? 

If  the  glad  temper  of  our  old  ballads  is  to  be  renewed  by  English 
people,  and  if  Shakespeare  is  to  displace  trash  plays  as  he  displaced 
Elizabethan  bearpits,  true  artists  of  all  sorts  must  put  passion  into 
their  varied  work  for  reforms  far  too  long  neglected.  Startling  facts 
have  been  disclosed  by  the  medical  examination  of  recruits  for  our 
Navy  and  Army.  A  percentage  of  physical  decadence  far  too  high 
is  one  price  we  are  paying  to  slumlands  and  industrialism.  To  scorn 
the  good  work  called  art,  then,  is  to  sow  seeds  of  national  degener- 
ation and  decline. 


180 


WAU    CAUiOON  :    "  A    SOI.IIAUV    rlJISONUU 


CHAPTER   XIII      PEACE  AND  WAR  IN  BRANGWYN'S 
POSTERS 


c  pass  on  to  Brangwyn's  posters, 
and  let  us  note  well  the  necessary 
principles  by  which  the  most 
genuinely  social  of  all  art  picto- 
'  rial  ought  always  to  be  governed, 
however  varied  their  application  may  be.  For  two  reasons  poster- 
work  is  the  most  genuinely  social  of  pictorial  art :  it  appeals  with 
definite  aims  to  everybody,  and  it  asks  for  no  money  from  anyone 
who  looks  at  it  as  good  or  bad  work,  and  not  as  mere  advertisement. 
At  its  best  it  is  to  modern  towns,  with  their  industrial  haphazard  and 
their  frequent  apathy  toward  religion,  a  real  restorative,  though  not 
what  pictures  in  churches  were  during  those  generative  periods  called 
the  Renaissance.  Brangwyn  has  done  much  to  put  high  thought 
and  a  big  style  into  recent  poster-work ;  and  he  is  most  eager  to  do  a 
great  deal  more  if  it  be  worth  while;  that  is,  if  this  most  social  art 
be  ordered  in  a  proper  citizen  manner.  Then  artists  of  standing, 
keen  towards  national  welfare,  can  give  enough  time  to  it,  and  not 
merely  odd  hours  or  days  tor  the  purpose  of  aiding  a  good  charity. 
Years  ago  Brangwyn  made  a  coloured  poster  for  the  Orient  Pacific 
Line,  and  summed  up  in  it  most  of  the  simple  principles  by  which 
all  work  for  the  poor  man's  art-gallery  in  our  streets  ought  to  be 
governed.  Its  motit  was  a  huge  steamer,  with  some  little  craft  not 
only  manned  by  Orientals,  but  containing  also  some  gay  fruit  symbols 
of  Eastern  lands  to  which  the  steamer  went  on  needful  affairs.  Here 
is  a  subject  that  has  a  general  interest ;  it  stirs  the  drops  of  Viking 
blood  in  our  veins;  and  it  gives  full  scope  to  Brangwyn's  ample  and 
opulent  fine  colour,  which  at  its  best  seems  to  be  compounded  of 
fruit,  flesh,  flowers,  and  feather  hues,  with  good  solid  earth  and  the 
sky's  visiting  moods. 

Colour  is  all-important  to  poster-work,  yet  its  popularity  is  not  fully 
appreciated  by  many  an  artist  who  works  for  our  hoardings  and  street 
galleries.  Puritans  with  their  sour  and  fierce  gloom,  their  pent-up 
and  annealed  virtue,  sharp  and  slashing  like  steel,  tried  to  cut  out  of 
our  English  character  that  old  fondness  for  colour  which  softened  a 
rude  uncertain  life  during  periods  when  smallpox  and  plague  were 
most  rampant,  and  when  costumes  were  picturesque,  and  pageants 

i8i 


lively,  and  all  good  folk  at  May  Day  Festivals  carried  posies.  Ro- 
mance and  colour  are  elements  of  Gothic  art  and  of  England's 
younger  life;  and  but  for  them,  with  the  vivid  and  lusty  national 
spirit  that  they  helped  to  make  real  and  to  keep  wide-awake,  our 
Shakespeare  could  never  have  been  what  he  was,  for  he  and  the 
drama  were  opposed  by  many  a  Puritan  hothead  like  Gosson,  who 
would  have  talked  through  his  nose  at  a  perpetual  funeral  if  his  will 
could  have  worked  such  a  miracle.  Self-righteous  talk  remains  with 
us,  but  its  crape  or  contempt  for  colour,  its  Puritan  dreariness 
has  gone  where  the  old  moons  go,  seemingly.  Colour  is  greatly 
loved  to-day,  and  in  poor  homes  even  more  than  elsewhere,  perhaps. 
During  four  years  of  this  war,  moreover,  through  many  tragic 
months  of  bad  battle-maps  and  gnawing  doubts,  all  classes  drew 
closer  to  the  refreshment  given  by  gay  shop-windows  and  other  public 
displays  of  colour.  A  fine  sculptor  told  me  that  he  had  noticed  this 
fact  in  his  own  greatly  enhanced  relish  tor  notes  of  good  colour  in 
many  things  which  hitherto  he  had  accepted  more  or  less  as  a  matter 
of  custom;  and  I  can  give  an  example  from  quite  ordinary  hard- 
handed  men. 

One  afternoon,  outside  a  second-hand  printseller's,  I  was  turning  over 
some  portfolios  in  which  were  many  oddment  prints  offered  at  prices 
from  a  penny  to  a  shilling.  A  workman  came  up  and  began  to 
search  through  the  biggest  portfolio.  Presently  he  chose  four 
coloured  pictures,  which  looked  suspiciously  like  German  chromos 
about  thirty  or  so  years  old.  Though  soiled  they  smacked  me  in 
the  eye  like  a  boxing  glove  flicked  forward  with  a  jab.  "You  like 
bold  colours  that  hit  out,"  I  said  to  him.  "Course.  Don't  you?" 
he  asked.  "Need  'em  in  these  days.  Pals  dead,  and  two  boys  at 
the  war.  My  missis  won't  be  up  against  these  picters.  Not  she. 
Do  'er  proud  they  will — and  me  too."  He  thought  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  a  touch  of  London's  humour,  "I  dessay  these  colours 
do  brag  a  bit  and  put  'emselves  on  strike,  but  where's  the  'arm } 
They're  a  bit  of  all  right  these  picters."  So  he  paid  fivepence  each 
for  them  and  went  away  with  some  chromo  sunshine  rolled  up  into 
a  bundle. 

Colour,  then,  ought  not  to  be  omitted  from  any  poster  which  makes 
its  appeal  to  "the  general,"  as  Shakespeare  calls  public  opinion;  and 
to-day  it  is  the  General,  our  Commanding  Officer,  every  Premier's 
Prime  Minister.  How  to  use  colour  for  posters  is  another  question, 
and  it  receives  a  great  many  answers  from  Europeans  and  Americans. 

1H2 


Climate  and  national  character  have  varied  influence,  of  course.  In 
countries  where  torrid  heat  goes  together  with  flashing  light  and 
gay  colour,  needs  of  contrast  ought  to  produce  sombre  posters  with 
sonorous  black  notes  and  chords;  while  the  ebony  frames  of  London's 
aspects  can  hold  with  cheering  effects  colour  schemes  as  virgin  and 
as  rare  as  Persian  illuminations,  with  their  brilliantly  seductive 
concords. 

Brangwyn  is  often  something  of  a  Persian  in  the  magic  with  which 
he  unites  plots  of  monotint  discord  into  beautiful  original  colour.* 
None  knows  better  than  he,  nor  so  well  as  he,  how  to  use  virgin  pig- 
ment as  Nature  dapples  ripening  oats  and  wheat  with  flames  from 
poppies  and  sweet  serene  chills  from  cornflowers.  Tender  gradations 
and  most  delicate  transitions  need  not  all  the  ado  made  by  Whistler's 
evasive  technique  over  lowered  tone  and  far-sought  mystery;  they 
can  be  revealed  also  among  most  daring  contrasts  and  by  sharpening 
many  an  edge  between  light  and  shade  and  between  well-placed 
patches  of  virgin  pigment  balanced  into  glowing  colour  by  the  right 
intuitive  aptness;  as  in  Brangwyn's  "Trade  on  the  Beach,"  1894, 
and  "Dolce  Far  Niente,"  1893,  where  Southern  women,  half-clad  in 
orange  draperies,  lie  around  a  blue-tiled  fountain,  with  a  background 
of  rich  magnolia  trees  to  give  a  muting  concordance.  With  this 
Oriental  zest  for  colour,  but  in  simplified  flattened  tints,  Brangwyn 
designed  his  first  shipping  poster;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  at  all 
that  his  method  and  his  colour  effect  were  as  lessons  to  most  of  the 
men  who  do  work  for  our  street  galleries. 

His  poster,  too,  got  rid  of  that  wordiness  with  which  advertisers 
spoil  the  trade  value  of  their  self-praise.  It  did  not  promise  you  a 
visit  to  heaven  in  the  Orient  Pacific  Line;  nor  did  it  extol  the  cheap- 
ness of  fares  (as  if  shipping  companies  were  ideal  philanthropies) ;  nor 
did  it  praise  cooks  and  food  (as  if  travellers  were  to  be  angled  for  like 
trout,  salmon,  and  pike).  To  get  advertisers  to  accept  a  few  humble 
words  on  a  poster  is  a  trouble  to  be  overcome  either  by  suave  patience 
or  by  a  blunt  refusal  to  do  a  wrong  thing.  No  true  artist  should  be 
as  a  gramophone  to  any  advertiser's  vainglory — unless  he  wants  to 
lose  all  self-respect.  Let  him  say  outright  what  he  will  not  do. 
There's  more  peace  in  bluntness  over  matters  of  right  and  wrong 

*  In  stained  glass  the  leaden  "canes"  will  harmonize  discordant  colours;  and  both 
gold  and  black  outlines  have  the  same  effect  in  illuminations,  and  in  posters  also.  So 
these  boundaries  between  unfriendly  colours  are  peacemakers,  unlike  boundaries 
between  rival  nations. 

183 


than  in  all  the  pacifists  our  epoch  has  known ;  and  it  is  usually  to- 
wards wrong  that  advertisers  drift.  "'Straight'  advertising  has 
become  very  rare,"  a  Scottish  advertising  agent  said  to  me,  deploring 
a  great  decline  during  the  present  generation. 

And  some  other  essential  hints  can  be  got  from  the  same  poster;  as, 
for  example,  that  all  must  be  seen  at  a  glance  without  questions  aris- 
ing in  the  people's  minds.     A  poster  miscarries  as  soon  as  ordinary 
people  say,  "What  is  it  all  about.?"     "Is  that  a  little  girl  or  a  small 
boy  in  petticoats.?"     "Where  are  the  guns  on  this  warship?"     All 
questions  of  this  variety  show  that  a  poster  and  its  public  are  at 
loggerheads;  and  as  Edmund  Kean  was  hipped  unless  "the  pit  rose 
at   him,"  or  as  comedians  are   unhappy   when   their  "points  arn't 
taken,"  so  a  poster  artist  should  take  his  verdicts — not  from  his  own 
criticisms,  nor  from  those  of  other  artists,  but — from  the  streets  to 
whose  populace  he  has  chosen  to  make  appeal  for  the  widest  approval 
he  can  win.     Let  him  stand  near  his  own  posters ;  if  he  looks  at  them 
attentively,  then  makes  a  remark  to  a  passer-by,  a  small  group  of 
critics  will  soon  collect  and  their  candour  is  informing.     I've  tried 
this  dodge  many  a  time,  and  doubt  if  any  poster  artist — not  even 
Brangwyn — has  hit  the  people  at  all  equally  in  a  set  of  posters.     And 
this  observation  leads  on  to  a  suggestion  :   that  in  this  art,  which  fails 
if  it  doesn't  attract  and  hold  millions  of  passers-by,  artists,  like  great 
actors,   have   more   to   gain   from   self-suppression   than    from   self- 
revelation.     A  poster  should  be,  not  a  print  for  a  portfolio,  but  an 
abundant  decoration  for  large  and  busy  streets  and  other  thronged 
public  places;  and  hence  an  artist  should  adapt  his  usual  style  to 
evident  needs  and  as  attractively  as   he   can.     In   his   best   posters 
Brangwyn  illustrates  these  matters  with  an  ample  hand. 
Then  there's  the  importance   of  uncrowded   workmanship,  simple 
direct  design,  with  plain  spaces  that  suggest  quietness.     Example :  if 
you  hire  the  front  page  of  a  daily  paper  and  cover  it  all  over  with  a 
drawing  deeply  framed  by  words,  you  cannot  expect  to  be  anything 
more  than  a  faked  Autolycus,  a  bore,  not  an  amusing  salesman  of 
trade's  wares.     Your  drawing  cancels  the  commercial  value  of  your 
self-praise  in  words,  and  your  words  are  so  many  that  they  cancel 
your  drawing  and  worry  the  public's  defective  memory.      On  the 
other  hand,  place  midway  on  your  page  a  small  square  of  ably-worded 
text,  leaving  all  else  blank,  and  your  advertisement  will  magnetize 
readers.      Everyone  will  wish  to  know  what  you  have  to  say.      Use- 
less to  shout  when  other  advertisers  bawl  or  shriek ;  and  from  this 

184 


WAU  rosiKU  :  "  aniukki':  tiif.  i.Asr  hoai. 


fact  and  its  varied  application  good  effects  by  the  million  will  be  got 
when  able  artists  comply  happily  with  the  needs  of  all  advertising, 
whether  by  headline  on  "splash  pages"  or  by  poster  on  hoardings. 
But  let  them  keep  before  their  minds  y^-'t  another  thing:  that  British 
people  demand  prettiness  in  women  and  children;  they  don't  forgive 
a  poster  that  offends  against  this  need  ;  and  the  very  high  prices  paid 
for  Birket  Foster  prove  that  prettiness  belongs  to  our  national 
home  life  as  well  as  to  our  poster  public.  He  who  paints  pretty 
children  well  enough  to  make  his  name  in  the  hearts  of  English 
mothers  runs  the  risk  of  becoming  very  rich  while  breaking  his 
health  with  far  too  much  work.  It  is  only  in  fun  and  farce  that 
the  poster  public  likes  personal  ugliness,  but  not  in  girls.  Thus  the 
Ally  Sloper-like  print  of  "Sunny  Jim"  was  as  popular  as  are  Punch 
and  Judy  at  the  seaside. 

Athletes  are  liked,  so  are  soldiers  in  action,  but  not  so  much  as  Jack 
Tars,  I  think.  Sea  battles  and  other  marine  adventures  merit  from 
poster  artists  a  great  deal  more  attention  than  they  have  won  as  yet ; 
above  all  in  episodes  which  have  not  been  shrivelled  by  journalistic 
dissipation.  Next,  as  for  notes  of  tender  feeling.  Miss  Marie  Lloyd 
has  told  us  all,  after  reigning  long  over  the  music-hall  public,  that 
we  are  very  sentimental  as  a  people;  not  a  hopeful  fact  among 
civilians  who  have  to  keep  watch  over  an  exceedingly  scattered 
Empire.  There  is  grit  in  the  tenderness  that  younger  Britain  liked ; 
it  is  real  sentiment,  not  sentimentality,  and  touched  quite  often  with 
quaintness  and  humour,  as  in  the  ballad  about  Sally  in  Our  Alley. 
But  poster  men  have  to  take  the  public  as  it  is,  keeping  a  sharp  look- 
out over  those  papers,  magazines,  books,  plays,  songs,  revues,  and  so 
forth,  which  reveal  most  plainly  what  the  people  insist  upon  having 
as  hobbies  and  toys  and  amusements.  Then  let  them  try  to  do  much 
better  along  the  same  lines  of  tun,  frolic,  wit,  humour,  ridicule, 
banter,  love,  courtship,  courage,  sensation,  and  what  you  please  from 
life's  enigma. 

I  am  keeping  Brangwyn's  best  work  constantly  before  my  mind, 
with  that  of  several  other  masters,  French  and  British ;  and  now  a 
summing  up  of  these  qualities  must  be  given,  or  offered  for  con- 
sideration. Whatever  a  posterist — can  this  word  be  used  .? — may 
try  to  do,  never  must  he  be  neutral,  evasive,  stricken  by  half-and- 
half  measures.  And  it  is  not  enough  to  be  positive  and  direct  and 
colourful  ;  for  a  good  poster,  like  a  good  short  story  (take  The  Luck 
of  Roaring  Camp  or  Only  a  Subaltern)   should  be  art  in  a  superlative 

2    B  185 


mood — not  pathetic,  but  very  pathetic ;  not  funny,  but  very  funny ; 
not  tragical,  but  very  tragical,  and  so  forth. 

A  final  point.  It  is  widely  believed  that  ordinary  persons,  and 
above  all  hard-handed  folk,  wish  to  see  in  pictures  and  posters  things 
far  off  from  their  lot  and  labour;  and  yet  "shop"  rules  over  most 
human  interests.  Sportsmen  love  sporting  prints  and  pictures,  for 
example,  and  sailors  brood  over  painted  ships,  as  women  do  over 
paintings  of  children.  It  is  artists  who  open  eyes  blinded  by 
custom,  showing  ironworkers  (to  take  an  example)  what  furnaces 
and  casting  are  like,  and  miners  what  collieries  are  when  half-naked 
men  "get"  their  coal  along  dim,  breezy  roads  fanned  by  a  circulating 
draught.      Note  what  Robert  Browning  says  in  Fra  hippo  Lippi : — 

"For,  don't  you  mark?  we're  made  so  that  we  love 
First  when  we  see  them  painted,  things  we  have  passed 
Perhaps  a  hundred  times,  nor  cared  to  see  : 
And  so  they  are  better,  painted — better  to  us, 
"Which  is  the  same  thing.      Art  was  given  for  that ; 
God  uses  us  to  help  each  other  so, 
Lending  our  minds  out.     Have  you  noticed,  now. 
Your  cullion's  hanging  face  }     A  bit  of  chalk, 
And,  trust  me,  but  you  should  though  !      How  much  more 
It  I  drew  higher  things  with  the  same  truth  ! 
That  were  to  take  the  Prior's  pulpit-place — 
Interpret  God  to  all  of  you  !     Oh,  oh  ! 
It  makes  me  mad  to  see  what  men  shall  do, 
And  we  in  our  graves  !      This  world's  no  blot  for  us. 
Nor  blank  :   it  means  intensely,  and  means  good  : 
To  find  its  meaning  is  my  meat  and  drink." 

It  follows,  surely,  that  Brangvvyn's  research  into  this  world,  his 
epitome  of  industrialism,  and  his  varied  aspects  of  sea  life,  offer 
excellent  material  for  useful  and  popular  posters  in  a  great  many 
phases. 

II 

Posters,  then,  when  considered  apart  from  trade  advertising,  have  as 
distinctly  a  function  in  the  common  weal  as  any  other  phase  of 
thought  and  action  by  which  good  things  fit  for  their  uses  are  made 
essential  to  the  national  welfare.  These  duties  need  incessant  help 
from  first-rate  advertising,  too,  which  is  to  the  distribution  of  made 
wares  and  raw  materials  what  steam  and  electricity  are  to  movement 
from  machines,  such  as  railway  engines ;  but  advertising,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  rarely  first-rate,  often  it  is  very  bad,  a  mere  letting  off  of 
steam  by  inept  self-praise.      Unless  artists  run  counter  to  this  evil  and 

i86 


its  national  effects,  posters  are  but  menials  to  conceited  salesmen,  and 
we  are  face  to  face  with  dereliction  of  public  duty  on  the  part  of 
those  who  design  posters  and  of  those  who  commission  work  for 
our  hoardings. 

And  we  must  go  farther  than  this  point.  Let  us  not,  because  we 
deem  a  thing  to  be  useful  for  our  own  brief  day,  a  few  current 
hours,  act  as  if  we  believed  that  it  could  never  be  useful  for  ever. 
All  things  in  their  spirit  and  purpose  are  useful  for  ever  if  they  are 
evoked  by  that  deep  sincerity,  that  passion  for  thorough  effort, 
which  all  good  and  fit  work  makes  real  in  concrete  things.  A  young 
poster  man  said  to  me,  "  Of  course,  I  don't  give  much  time  to  this 
work — throw  it  off  as  quickly  as  I  can,  you  know.  It's  for  a  day 
or  two  in  the  rain,  and  hooligans  may  scribble  dirty  words  and  jokes 
upon  it.  Trash  to  sell  pills,  but  it  helps  to  keep  fire  under  my 
stockpot."  These  excuses  for  dishonest  work  belong  to  an  old 
cynical  inertia  named  "After  us  the  Deluge."  If  the  time  has  not 
come  for  posters  as  good  as  the  most  able  artists  at  their  best  can 
design,  it  never  can  come ;  and  most  of  our  streets  and  stations, 
with  a  vast  number  of  our  fields  and  sky  scenes,  will  be  disgraced 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  selling  work  of  any  sort,  however 
scamped  and  shoddy. 

Again,  take  the  case  of  war  posters,  a  case  that  Brangwyn  has  weighed 
and  measured  more  justly  than  any  other  British  artist.  Grant,  if 
you  will,  that  a  war  poster  has  an  evident  function  suggested  by  the 
word  War,  and  that  this  function  is  performed  well  if  it  helps  any 
institution  or  other  agency  that  is  needful  to  a  nation  whose  life  is 
endangered  by  armed  strife.  Let  this  be  granted;  but  are  we  to  rest 
here  and  see  no  more  than  the  fringe  of  fact .?  Are  we  to  forget  that 
War  for  Life  or  Death  is  to  a  nation's  whole  being,  her  body  social 
in  its  routine  and  her  mind  and  heart  and  soul,  what  earthquakes  are 
to  inanimate  Nature.?  Are  we  to  forget  that  the  highest  necessary 
aim  of  such  a  war  is  not  alone  to  win  victory,  since  victory  has  been 
won  millions  of  times  in  Man's  world  by  greed  over  poverty,  aggres- 
sion over  honour,  wrong  over  right .''  Indeed,  what  savage  could 
ever  have  risen  above  his  tigerish  lust  of  blood,  and  what  civilized 
race  or  nation  could  ever  have  been  displaced  by  pitiless  barbarian 
hordes  (as  Britons  tamed  by  Roman  discipline  were  massacred  by 
ferocious  Angles  and  Saxons),  if  crimes  from  human  ferocity  had 
been  deemed  unpardonable  by  the  Divinity  that  shapes  our  ends.? 
Thoughtful  sufferers  from  crime  in  war  do  not  waste  time  and  energy 

187 


on  screaming  indictments  ;  they 
invest  them  in  just  and  effectual 
counter-strokes,  and  deUver  their 
verdicts  when  they  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  mete  out  fitting  punish- 
ment. 

It  follows,  then,  that  posters  are 
base  and  culpable  if  they  add 
fever  to  minds  already  too  much 
disturbed  by  abnormal  events  and 
anxieties.  It  is  monstrous  that 
they  should  be  made  to  deprave 
high  thought  and  right  feeling, 
by  restricting  and  narrowing  a 
nation's  intelligence,  or  inflaming 
her  judgment,  or  misdirecting  her 
imagination.  A  great  nation  should 
never  lose  touch  with  dignity,  can- 
dour, and  self-respect.*  And  since  the  highest  aim  of  armed  war  can 
never  be  no  more  than  to  achieve  victory,  as  lions  and  tigers  do  over 
deer,  or  as  the  Vandals  did  over  city  after  city  in  North  Africa,  what 
aim  are  we  to  regard  as  highest  in  the  stage  of  social  feeling  and 
progress  which  England  and  her  daughters  have  reached.?  It  is  a 
dual  aim:  to  prove  that  our  civilization  is  wiser  and  better  than  that 
scientific  barbarity  which  modernized  Germans  have  imposed  with  a 
difHcult  and  ravaging  hand  on  so  many  parts  of  Europe  ;  better  in 
defence  and  attack,  in  coolness  and  forethought,  in  patience  under 
gnawing  privations,  and  in  all  other  qualities  by  which  patriotism 
and  courage  are  tested  in  the  furnace  of  war — a  furnace  which 
either  anneals  or  melts  and  wastes  what  it  acts  upon.  This  one  aim 
is  essential;  but  it  includes  a  higher — to  improve  by  our  acts  what 
we  love  best  and  value  most — to  endow  what  we  love  with  as  much 
immortality  as  Providence  permits  on  earth  among  nations  that  do 
not  let  decline  and  decay  take  hold  of  their  vitals.  These  are 
the  aims  that  public  appeals  should  try  to  make  real  with  cool 
impassioned   fervour,   faith   and    grip ;    and    Admiral    Beatty,    from 


*  In  the  present  war,  owing  to  the  hysteria  of  our  Noisepaper  Press,  these  first- 
rate  qualities  have  been  outraged  by  a  routine  of  cant,  hubbub,  and  misleading 
statement. 


;88 


WAR     I'DSIKK    FOK    "  f.  <  lUI'lil-MNAT     OICS     AKMKICh. 


a  large  poster,  running  counter  to  current  moods  and  methods,  has 
put  them  before  us  all  in  a  few  words:* 

"England  still  remains  to  be  taken  out  of  the  stupor  of  self-satisfaction  and 
complacency  into  which  her  great  and  flourishing  condition  had  steeped  her; 
and  until  she  can  be  stirred  out  of  this  condition,  and  until  religious  revival 
shall  talce  place  at  home,  just  so  long  will  the  war  continue.  Wlien  she  can 
look  out  on  the  future  with  humbler  eyes  and  a  prayer  upon  her  lips,  then 
we  can  begin  to  count  the  days  towards  the  end."- 

It  is  in  other  phrases  the  appeal  made  by  Shakespeare: 

"  O  England! — model  of  thy  inward  greatness, 
Like  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart  .   .   . 
What  mightst  thou  do,  that  honour  would  thee  do, 
Were  all  thy  children  kind  and  natural  r  " 

No  man  can  know  whether  his  neighbours  are  ready  for  change  and 
truth  or  not;  but  always  he  can  be  sure,  as  Bacon  says,  that  Truth 
has  ever  been  the  Daughter  of  Time.  Never  does  she  rise  up  super- 
naturally ;  she  has  a  direct  relation  to  antecedent  conditions  and  to 
present-day  needs  as  well ;  and  for  all  these  reasons,  I  assume,  Brang- 
wyn  in  his  war  posters  has  kept  far  away  from  Press  Gangs  and 
their  orgies  of  flamboyant  emotion  and  display.  It  has  been  his 
pride  to  seek — now  and  then  in  a  race  against  time  not  to  be  avoided 
— after  such  appeals  as  would  grasp  public  attention  while  enticing 
it  from  excited  unreason  into  cool  and  sincere  thought. 
His  war  posters  are  done  in  genuine  lithography,  are  drawn  direct 
on  slabs  of  stone  and  not  on  transfer  paper.  In  these  days  genuine 
lithography  is  a  rare  thing,  and  above  all  on  such  large  stones  as 
Brangwyn  has  employed  for  several  of  his  best  prints.  Most  of 
them  have  tints,  and  they  have  been  admirably  published  by 
Mr.  Praill,  of  The  Avenue  Press,  whose  zeal  and  success  in  printing 
these  lithographs,  both  small  and  the  very  large,  merit  public  recog- 
nition. There's  much  variety  also  in  the  methods  invented  by 
Brangwyn,  as  well  as  much  dramatization  in  the  art  with  which  he 
has  felt  and  realized  special  needs  and  varying  motifs.  Posters  drawn 
for  France  differ  from  those  which  are  addressed  to  our  own  country 
or  to  the  U.S.A.,  for  example.  Perhaps  he  does  not  insist  quite 
enough  upon  racial  types  and  national  character. 
Again,  as  in  coloured  woodcuts,|  so  in  lithograph  war  posters,  Brang- 

*   This  was  written  in  April,  I918. 

t  In  1915  the  Fine  Art  Society,  London,  published  in  a  portfolio  six  tinted  woodcuts 

designed  and  signed  by  Brangwyn.     They  represent  episodes  of  war  at  the  Front  and 

189 


wyn  has  composed  for  himself  a  Tommy  Atkins,  jusl;  as  Bruce 
Bairnsfather  has  imagined  another;  and  if  we  generally  prefer  the 
British  soldier  that  we  see  everywhere,  let  us  be  glad  to  accept  from 
Brangwyn  and  Bairnsfather  what  their  patriotism  has  gathered  into 
types.  Atkins  in  a  mass  of  troops  Brangwyn  understands  fully,  as  in 
his  darkling,  dramatic  poster  of  British  troops  occupying  Dixmude, 
a  print  designed  to  aid  a  fund  for  sending  tobacco  to  our  protectors 
on  all  fronts.  A  good  aim,  this;  for  during  the  last  weeks  of  the 
siege  of  Metz,  forty-seven  years  ago,  tobacco  and  salt  were  boons 
that  soldiers  and  civilians  pined  for  most  of  all. 

More  difficult  than  other  problems  are  those  that  U-boats  have 
enforced  upon  all  nations  with  such  terrific  waterquakes  of  devilrv. 
Brangwyn  has  faced  them  with  a  level  mind,  such  as  sailors  need 
when  a  cyclone  in  peals  of  thunder-wind  ravages  their  ship.  Even 
before  this  war  his  seafaring  intuition  compelled  him  to  fear  that 
submarines,  during  the  next  grapple  in  armed  strife,  would  become 
more  formidable  than  other  sea  perils ;  and  they  were  also  weapons 
very  fit  and  easy  to  be  misemployed. 

I  know  not  by  what  argument  or  reasoning  he  kept  his  mind  well 
balanced.  An  interpreter  of  art  has  to  deal  as  fully  as  he  can  with 
results  ot  work  done,  relating  how  he  feels  and  sees  them ;  it  is  not 
his  affair  to  spy  upon  an  artist's  private  reflection ;  but  Brangwyn's 
posters  on  the  U-boat  peril,  commandingly  apt,  are  what  they 
should  be — antagonistic  to  that  noisy  moral  anger  by  which  nations 
at  death-grip  with  stress  and  strain  may  be  made  unfit  for  cool  unceas- 
ing action  and  effectual  resource ;  in  fact,  cool,  good  sense  in  action 
unceasing  is  the  only  safeguard  against  crimes  in  war.  And  what 
motive-power  is  behind  it  ?  Hysteria  from  headlines  and  splash 
pages  ?     Either  horrified  or  flaming  words  ?      No.      Open  pans  of 

behind  at  the  Base.  Their  effects  of  decorative  colour  are  orchestrated  with  black, 
white,  and  a  butf  tint  approaching  worn  khaki.  The  black  lines  are  thick  and  fat,  and 
often  angular,  as  angular  drawing  has  greater  vigour  and  character  than  rounded  lines, 
which  are  apt  to  look  caressed  and  lax.  Black  appears  also  in  deep  and  wide  plots,  as 
if  washed  in  with  a  swift  brush ;  and  the  buff  tint  also  has  about  it  a  painterly  wash, 
direct  and  expressive.  Here  and  there  the  faces  are  not  comely  enough  to  attract 
British  eyes,  but  few  artists  of  to-day  could  reveal  with  equal  weight  and  fervour,  by 
means  of  tinted  woodcuts,  an  epitome  of  war  as  notable  as  this  one.  In  two  prints  we 
are  present  with  our  wounded  in  the  trenches ;  and  here  the  style  is  monumental  and 
the  emotion  epical.  Nurses  at  a  Dressing  Station  enable  us  to  feel  how  taut  and  stern 
are  the  duties  which  they  do  with  proud  tenderness,  and  which  mark  their  own  kind 
faces  with  suffering.  I  speak  of  this  work  in  a  footnote  because  I  wish  to  connect  it 
with  the  war  posters. 

190 


boiling  water  have  never  driven  a  steam-engine  to  a  chosen  place. 
It  is  patient  and  vigilant  invention,  aided  by  a  whole  nation  cool 
enough  to  be  thoughtful  in  united  and  continuous  right  action. 
And  here  is  the  mood  that  Brangwyn's  posters  invite.  Only  one — 
and  this  one  a  rapid  sketch,  not  a  meditated  war  cartoon — is  like 
journalistic  appeals.  It  represents  German  soldiers  in  the  act  of 
shooting  Belgian  civilians,  while  their  officer  looks  on  with  callous 
pleasure  and  smokes  a  cigarette.  If  such  a  crime  as  this  cannot 
be  understood  in  words,  as  Crippen's  crime  was  understood  from 
words,  how  can  we  set  just  store  by  Board  Schools  and  current 
citizenship  .?  So  there  is  no  need  why  posters  should  vie  against  the 
Bryce  Report  and  other  official  and  proved  facts  about  our  foes' 
abominations.  But,  this  one  excepted,  Brangwyn's  war  posters  rise 
to  the  more  urgent  spiritual  needs  of  our  great  Empire,  who  has 
small  enslaved  allies  to  rescue  and  big  allies  to  aid,  and  her  own 
errors  and  blunders  to  retrieve,  turning  her  adversity  into  a  victorious 
finish.* 

The  U-boat  posters,  for  example,  say  in  their  moods  to  all  country- 
folk and  townsfolk,  "  You  don't  know  what  prodigious  open  sea  is 
like,  so  you  don't  see  in  your  minds  what  U-boat  crimes  are.  We 
show  you  in  full  their  murders  on  the  high  seas.  How  do  you 
intend  to  act  ?  Any  fool  can  see  at  a  glance  that  a  crime  is  a  crime, 
and  any  fool  can  wring  his  hands  over  a  crime  or  scream  at  it  with 
horror,  like  headlines  on  a  'splash  page.'  But  is  it  right  for  you  to 
let  off  steam  in  this  tutile  way  .?  Or  can  you  as  a  people  win  this 
war  by  shrieking  to  the  clouds  about  '  corpse  fat,'  or  by  finding  any 
other  such  vent  for  national  energy  ?  Is  it  true  that  too  many  of  you 
strike  now  and  then,  while  others  try  to  make  overmuch  profit  out 
of  this  war,  and  others  grouse  and  growl  because  food  cannot  be 
cheap  enough  to  waste,  as  it  was  in  peace  ?  What,  then,  do  you 
intend  to  do  as  a  nation,  millions  of  you  acting  all  day  long  with 
the  same  cool  and  stern  will  .?  Don't  you  see  that  you  take  part  in 
U-boat  crimes  if  you  either  cause  delay  or  sanction  delay  in  the 
building  of  ships  to  replace  those  that  U-boats  have  murdered  .? 
Come  !      How  do  you  i?iteri<i  to  ACT?"  ■* 

*  One  error — very  shameful  and  tragical — was  our  country's  behaviour  to  Denmark  in 
1864;  and  another  was  the  scrapping  of  Beaconsfield's  Convention  with  Turkey. 
J.  A.  Froude  said  of  this  Treaty  with  Turkey :  "  It  is  an  obligation  which  we  shall 
fulfil  as  much  and  as  little  as  we  fulfilled  a  similar  obligation  to  Denmark."  So 
Turkey  has  been  our  foe  in  the  present  War. 

191 


From  our  hoardings  Sir  William  Robertson  has  made  an  appeal  in 
which  he  asks  us  to  value  a  true  perspective  of  the  War,  as  it  vv^ould 
aid  the  Nation  to  give  valuable  help  to  our  seamen  and  soldiers. 
Brangwyn's  marine  posters  have  a  true  w^ar  perspective.  They  epito- 
mize and  reveal  with  intense  passion.  The  earliest  was  designed 
after  the  "Falaba's"  fate  caused  seamen  to  think  fiercely  and  steadily, 
while  most  civilians  repeated  headlines.  It  was  published  in  the 
days  of  the  "Lusitania."  No  one  but  a  seaman  could  have  drawn 
it,  and  only  a  colourist-painter  could  have  put  such  a  stormful  rush 
and  sweep  of  line  and  mass  into  the  realization  of  its  episode,  par- 
ticularly on  stone  with  the  greasy  chalk  used  in  lithographic  work. 
Rain  falls,  and  a  German  submarine  looks  on  while  men  drown  and 
some  British  sailors  in  a  boat  rescue  others  who  are  half-drowned.  A 
wave  curls  up  lappingly  to  the  periscope's  base ;  and  nothing  could 
be  more  traitorous,  not  even  the  submarine's  crew,  onlooking,  than 
this  salt  water,  with  its  licking  rhythm  and  broken  fretfulness.  Hun 
and  sea  appear  to  be  leagued  together  against  helpless  men.  And 
cold — sea  cold  that  numbs  courage  and  twists  bodies  all  at  once  with 
spasms  of  cramp — is  made  real,  except  among  those  rescuers,  one  of 
whom  is  as  tender  as  a  nurse,  while  another  pauses  in  his  work  and, 
with  a  fine  gesture,  and  muscles  taut  with  passion  under  control,  de- 
fies the  submarine.  Not  all  have  perished.  Right  has  claimed  and 
saved  a  part  of  what  it  needs.  Is  there  too  much  real  terror  in  that 
drowning  man  who,  before  he  sinks,  hits  up  his  arm  as  if  to  grasp 
an  unseen  support,  while  his  jaw  falls  as  if  this  last  effort  has  brought 
death  to  him?  Was  it  not  Ruskin  who  said  that  there  are  times 
when  men  and  nations  must  be  shocked  into  thought  and  swift 
effectual  action?  Much  better  a  too  painful  truth  than  those  far  too 
sanguine  officials  who  said,  more  than  once,  that  the  submarine 
danger  was  "well  in  hand."  The  over-confident  are  always  in  haste 
to  pluck  laurels  from  henbane. 

Two  of  Brangwyn's  U-boat  cartoons  were  designed  for  the  U.S.A. 
Navy  and  for  American  streets.  Are  these,  do  you  think,  the  most 
effectual  posters  with  which  our  Allied  cause  has  been  explained  and 
aided  ?  I  know  none  that  equals  them.  They  have  but  one  blemish, 
and  it  is  noticed  by  public  opinion,  whose  verdicts  in  our  street 
galleries  cannot  be  questioned  after  it  is  given.  Before  the  bigger 
one  of  these  posters — it  measures  60"  by  80" — a  lady  said:  "What 
scaring  truth !  I  don't  think  I  shall  sleep  to-night.  How  I  wish 
I  could  build  ships !     Why  was  I  born  a  girl,  and  not  a  boy  ?     It 

192 


seems  futile  to  be  a  woman  during  this  war.  And  men  should  feel 
almost  Divine,  since  they  alone  can  defeat  and  punish  these  U-boat 
abominations."  A  moment's  thought,  and  then  she  added:  "But 
still,  after  all,  a  woman  can  do  a  little  bit  here  that  is  useful.  She 
can  implore  Mr.  Brangwyn  never  again  to  blemish  his  right  and 
very  great  appeals  with  a  face  like  that  one.  It  is  early  prehistoric, 
almost  simian.  And  it  is  not  meant  for  a  German  face.  It  belongs 
to  an  Allied  seaman.  Let  us  have  noble  faces,  in  the  men  to  whom 
we  owe  our  all.  What  are  we  but  as  pensioners  to  Allied  seamen 
and  soldiers.?  Who  but  they  give  us  our  food.?" 
I  am  equally  disturbed  by  the  same  face  and  by  one  other.  Battle 
passions  have  no  effect  on  a  cranium,  and  it  is  in  the  shapes  of  skulls 
that  we  study  Man's  ascent  from  his  apelike  progenitors.  Strong 
frontal  ridges,  with  a  shallow,  fugitive  forehead,  are  marks  that  come 
from  a  treetop  ancestry.  But  when  a  man  of  imagination  is  over- 
wrought by  his  response  to  the  dramatic  needs  of  his  tragic  battle- 
piece,  his  peremptory  eagerness  to  make  character  and  passion  real  is 
apt  to  carry  him  a  step  too  far  here  and  there.  Other  artists  do  not 
mind;  to  apprehend  is  to  forgive;  but  artists  are  not  judges  in  our 
street  galleries,  they  are  the  judged. 

All  the  rest  in  Brangwyn's  posters  for  the  U.S.A.  Navy  is  incan- 
tation. It  weighs  upon  all  minds  a  very  deep  and  fateful  warning. 
Even  Gericault's  noble  and  heroic  shipwreck,  "Le  Radeau  de  la 
Meduse,"  its  modelling  being  overdone  and  its  shadows  too  black 
and  bituminous,  looks  a  sea  tragedy  from  a  studio,  compared  with 
these  lithographs,  with  their  bluff  salt  air  drenched  with  rain,  and 
their  swirling  waters  peopled  with  human  tragedies.  The  smaller  one 
(58"  by  38"),  masterly  as  a  composition,  has  a  colour  scheme  of  blue, 
gray,  buff  and  white,  while  the  larger  is  printed  in  black  and  relieved 
by  buff,  white,  and  gray.  Brangwyn  has  done  nothing  better  in  his 
many  marines  than  the  seaman  who  stands  half  erect  and,  with  a 
masterful  gesture  full  of  anger  under  discipline,  points  to  the  sinking 
vessel,  and  cries  to  the  Allied  will,  "Stop  this!  Help  your  country! 
Enlist  your  hearts  in  the  Navy  !"  There  is  also  a  baby  asleep,  and 
the  sleep  is  full  of  sea  cold  and  its  numbness.  Who  is  not  deeply 
touched  by  this  little  face.?  There  are  two  posters  where  the  children 
are  not  felt  as  this  baby's  face  is  drawn ;  they  neither  charm  by  their 
good  looks  nor  strike  awe  by  their  suffering ;  and  public  opinion 
likes  children  in  art  to  rule  as  enchanted  princes  and  princesses,  how- 
ever humbly  they  may  be  dressed. 

2  c  193 


For  the  rest,  Brangwyn's  marine  and  submarine  posters,  which  include 
"The  Last  Boat  from  Antwerp" — a  fine,  free,  wise  impression — and 
"Landing  Men  from  a  Naval  Fight,"  are  ample  paintings  done  with 
lithographic  chalk  and  two  or  three  tint  blocks.  They  have  an 
energy  as  youthful  as  that  which  keeps  fire  and  fierce  persuasion  in 
"The  Buccaneers,"  but  their  varied  inspiration  is  very  different,  and 
sometimes  it  is  as  apt  for  its  object  as  is  the  Marseillaise,  which,  as  an 
incantation  that  gives  men  heart  to  fight  on  and  on  for  their  native 
land,  is  an  ideal  model.  What  the  Marseillaise  has  been  to  militant 
music  among  the  French,  this  our  national  posters  may  become  to 
British  patriotism,  if  our  best  designers  act  as  true  dramatists  in  their 
study  of  national  tradition  and  character  and  opinion. 
"At  Neuve  Chapelle,"  with  its  flaming  contrasts  of  black  against 
orange  light,  gives  the  ultra-natural  in  scientific  war  with  a  power 
altogether  fit  and  right  for  our  street  galleries.  Its  cool  officer,  and 
its  Tommy  who  cries  out  for  more  ammunition,  while  behind  a 
great  gun  looms  darkly  through  the  glare  of  bursting  shells,  have  a 
proper  feeling  for  drama  and  patriot  zeal.  Very  fortunate,  too,  are 
some  touches  of  home  and  humour,  "In  the  Belgian  Trenches," 
printed  sometimes  in  black  and  buff  on  white  paper,  and  sometimes 
in  purple  and  dark  blue.  These  five  pals  are  jolly  good  fellows, 
grouped  with  effective  naturalness;  and  one  playing  an  accordion 
reminds  me  that  Brangwyn  is  always  good  in  his  lithographs  of 
amateur  musicians,  as  in  a  capital  one  named  "Music." 
Two  posters  represent  refugees  leaving  Antwerp;  the  better  one  is 
a  long  print  (30"  by  15'),  and  very  impressive  as  a  moving  throng 
urged  by  panic.  The  white  Scheldt  behind  and  Antwerp  far  off, 
cloud-haunted  and  under  battle  smoke,  are  decorative  and  true  as  a 
tragic  background.  I  am  left  cold  by  "A  Field  Hospital  in  France," 
though  I  like  its  colour  scheme  (buff,  red,  black,  and  white),  and 
think  that  its  adaptation  of  Brangwyn's  brush  drawing  and  woodcut 
methods  adds  a  new  zest  to  lithography  and  a  new  style  to  poster 
appeals.  Everyone  is  familiar  with  "  Britain's  Call  to  Arms,"  the 
original  stone  of  which  was  presented  by  Sir  Charles  Wakefield, 
when  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  to  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum. 
Though  inferior  to  the  marine  posters,  it  put  art  into  the  degrading 
much  ado  of  our  pleading  for  voluntary  recruits — pleadings  which 
our  foes  have  collected  and  ridiculed  at  exhibitions  in  support  of 
their  war  charities,  taking  care  to  omit  the  Brangwyn  cartoons.  So 
I  am  glad  to  hear  that  several  sets  of  Brangwyn's  best  posters  have 

194 


been  sent  officially  to  neutral  countries  as  a  counter-attack  against 
German  jests  and  mockery. 

"  British  Troops  and  Ypres  Tower,"  in  general  aspect,  is  brimful  of 
vast  war,  and  many  of  its  troops  march  to  a  song.  Yet  public 
opinion  finds  it  not  quite  fit  for  its  big  job.  "  Our  boys  are  finer 
than  these — much";  and  this  verdict  means  that  a  grand  manner, 
a  truly  heroic  style,  belongs  to  war  posters  as  well  as  to  Homer  and 
to  epic  patriotism  in  verse.  If  a  Dryasdust,  found  proof  that  the 
Black  Prince  or  Henry  V  had  a  harelip  and  a  squint,  should  we  not 
feel  outraged  .?  It  is  in  human  nature  to  glorify  those  who  are 
ready  to  die  for  an  idea  or  a  cause  or  a  ruling  passion,  because  great 
self-denial  is  transfiguration;  it  blends  mortal  men  with  eternal 
grace,  and  frees  us  all  by  its  magic  from  a  reality  that  is  only  of 
to-day.  Several  classic  battle-painters — Charlet,  Regamey,  some- 
times Detaille,  for  example — have  got  very  near  to  this  heroic  real, 
with  which  art  should  clothe  those  who  are  willing  to  die  in  battle 
that  we  may  live  here  at  home;  and  this  heroic  real  is  their  perennial 
uniform,  as  magical  in  khaki  as  in  red,  and  let  it  charm  away  all 
personal  ugliness.  If  not,  our  great-grandchildren  will  say,  "  They 
were  very  brave,  these  men  of  the  Great  War,  but  they  were  ugly, 
father."  In  other  words,  as  an  artist  can  portray  in  his  work  only  a 
handful  of  the  seven  million  who  have  gone  forth  from  the  British 
Isles  into  this  war,  let  him  choose  none  but  the  finest  in  face  and 
figure  and  bearing.  It  was  thus  that  Philippe  de  Comines  (1445- 
1509)  described  at  first-hand  our  mediaeval  archers:  "  Milice  re- 
doutable !  la  fleur  des  archiers  du  monde."  What  more  do  we 
need  as  a  continuation  ot  Agincourt  and  Crecy  ? 
"  Rebuilding  Belgium,"  a  prophetic  poster,  is  a  general  favourite  ; 
and  there  are  six  very  original  episodes  expressly  lithographed  for 
Sir  Arthur  Pearson  to  aid  our  National  Institute  for  the  Blind. 
One  was  set  aside  because  it  reveals  how  recruiting  was  carried  on 
among  slackers;  but  social  truth  is  history,  so  history  needs  every 
truth  that  can  be  winnowed  from  rumours,  lies,  exaggerations,  and 
self-deceptions,  by  which  great  moods  in  war  are  alloyed  from  day 
to  day.  Slackers  could  be  reckoned  up  by  thousands  in  all  big 
towns,  and  in  some  country  districts  also,  and  Brangwyn  has  satirized 
the  pavement  breed  with  a  wit  which  Daumier  and  Gavarni  would 
have  praised  as  right  and  wise.  Other  prints  of  this  good  series — 
saying  good-bye  at  a  railway  station,  going  on  board  a  transport, 
how  a  brave  lad  is  blinded  by  an  exploding  shell,  how  he  is  nursed 

19s 


in  a  hospital,  and  how  he  and  others  have  become  expert  as  basket- 
makers,  each  with  that  mild  self-approval  that  deftness  of  hand 
begets  when  it  becomes  an  easy  routine  freed  from  constant  hazard 
— cannot  be  studied  with  too  much  care.  Perhaps  they  are  some- 
what above  the  heads  of  many  ordinary  folk;  perhaps  they  belong 
more  to  portfolios  than  to  a  good  many  of  our  streets;  but,  in  any 
case,  they  honour  three  inestimable  boons  to  any  people  that  would 
rule  well  over  themselves  and  over  others:  three  boons  that  much 
of  our  propaganda  has  not  often  tried  to  respect — truth  in  war 
perspective,  cool  and  puissant  self-control,  and  national  dignity. 
Viewed  only  as  technical  aptness,  or  as  original  and  useful  research, 
they  are  among  the  most  entertaining  work  that  Brangwyn  has  done, 
most  sympathetic  and  tender  in  the  hospital  ward,  where  daylight 
enters  as  a  physician  with  soothing  peace,  and  most  varied  and  robust 
and  colourful  in  "The  Transport,"  and  below  the  great  arching  roof 
of  a  crowded  railway  station.  There  is  tenderness  also  and  good 
colour  in  two  posters  designed  for  a  French  charity,  "L'Orphelinat 
des  Armees,"  though  one  would  prefer  to  see  orphans  not  as  buds 
nipped  and  deflowered  by  war,  but  as  shy  and  rosy  heralds  of  a  better 
time  bequeathed  by  their  dead  parents  to  our  great  common  Cause. 
One  of  these  prints — in  it  open  lilies  of  France  are  united  to  mourn- 
ing widows  who  watch  over  children  not  their  own,  pledging  them- 
selves to  be  loyal  in  the  presence  of  a  battlefield  made  perennial  with 
crosses — has  a  generous  emotion,  and  a  light  in  it  that  cannot  fail 
unless  we  fail.  The  other,  with  its  hungry  child  aided  by  two 
happier  children,  while  her  mother  is  overcome  with  pain  and  woe, 
is  somewhat  in  the  vein  of  Degroux.  That  child  is  bitten  so  keenly 
by  hunger  that  her  face  and  hands  plead  for  help  irom  Him  who,  in 
the  beautiful  words  of  a  Psalm,  feeds  the  young  ravens  that  call  upon 
Him. 

Let  us  note  also  that  Brangwyn,  in  addition  to  these  posters,  and 
some  minor  ones,  like  "Dawn,"  "A  Vow  of  Vengeance,"  and  "Mars 
Appeals  to  Vulcan,"  has  done  for  big  trading  firms  a  few  Rolls  of 
Honour,  in  which  typical  handworkers  appear;  and  although  I  shall 
never  see  why  Rolls  of  Honour  should  be  put  up  during  a  vast 
essential  war  for  our  country's  honour  and  life,  when  those  who 
cannot  fight  in  the  field  are  the  only  persons  who  merit  pity,  still, 
custom  being  custom,  it  is  admirable  that  men  of  business  should 
ask  a  great  artist  to  make  fitting  designs. 
And  two  points  more  not  only  invite  thought,  they  set  thought  astir 

196 


II    I  MR    l,.\K(,K   U.S.A.    X.WV    POSTKR 


over  matters  of  general  value  to  our  future.  Three  good  portfolios 
of  these  war  posters  have  been  issued  in  half-tone  reproductions  by 
the  Avenue  Press,  and  I  wish  to  suggest  now  that  portfolios  of  this 
sort,  with  designs  from  history  of  abiding  worth  to  patriotism,  made 
by  Brangwyn  and  other  big  artists,  should  be  issued  as  a  routine  by 
our  Board  of  Education  and  circulated  all  the  year  round  from  school 
to  school.  Further,  the  same  designs,  but  in  large  lithographs  and 
colour  prints  mounted  on  thin  canvas,  should  be  circulated  in  rolls, 
to  be  hung  up  for  a  week  on  schoolroom  walls ;  only,  of  course,  no 
school  in  the  same  week  should  receive  a  portfolio  containing  the 
same  pictures  as  those  given  in  the  large  prints.  If  this  system  were 
brought  into  vogue  as  a  general  stimulus  to  education,  many  a  good 
thing  would  come  into  our  national  life  from  a  constant  pleasure 
granted  by  the  State  to  children.  Consider,  for  instance,  how  a  true 
affection  for  Shakespeare  would  have  been  passed  on  from  school  to 
school  if  E.  A.  Abbey's  most  excellent  drawings  from  our  Master's 
plays  had  been  turned  by  this  means  into  a  national  pleasure  for  the 
young;  and  Lamb's  Tales  from  Shakespeare  might  well  have  accom- 
panied these  Abbey  drawings,* 

There's  no  end  of  invaluable  work  that  draughtsmen  and  painters 
can  do  for  children,  who  represent  our  future  as  a  people.  For 
instance,  have  you  seen  photographs  of  work  done  in  Brussels  before 
this  war  by  the  great  Professor  Rutot,  with  help  from  sculptors.? 
He  has  restored  for  us  in  memorable  aspects  that  vague  thing  named 
Prehistoric  Man,  enabling  us  to  carry  in  our  minds  apt  probable 
portraits  of  the  Combe  Capelle  Man,  and  the  Man  of  Heidelberg; 
also  the  Neanderthal  Man,  and  our  Galley  Hill  Man,  and  the  Negro 
of  Grimaldi,  and  the  Man  of  Furfooz,  and  the  Old  Man  of  Cro- 
magnon,  and  others.  What  good  luck !  Don't  you  love  to  dream 
over  your  infancy  in  prehistoric  epochs.?  With  coloured  lithographs 
Brangwyn  could  rival  Rutot  and  the  Belgian  sculptors;  and  some 
man  of  science,  in  a  style  fit  to  be  read  with  ease  and  joy,  could 
write  notes  for  our  school-children  to  accept  gladly,  and  in  competi- 
tion for  half-yearly  prizes. 

As  for  the  other  point,  among  many  lithographs  that  F.  B.  has  done 
for  portfolios  and  rooms,  there  are  few  that  would  not  be  very  attrac- 

*  In  pre-war  times  Brangwyn  began  a  set  of  lithographs  for  educational  purposes. 
Several  were  published,  and  one  aim  was  to  put  upon  British  markets  a  home-grown 
art  better  than  those  good  German  colour-prints  that  circulated  all  over  the  world. 
But  a  commonplace  old  thing  happened.  "Nothing  doing!"  Progress  creeps,  as  we 
all  know,  but  in  our  country  before  this  war  progress  crept  into  retrogression. 

197 


tive  as  large  posters  for  our  streets.  By  way  of  example,  take  a  fine 
series  from  those  who  from  time  to  time  straighten  their  loins  and 
wipe  their  foreheads  with  the  backs  of  their  hands.  A  series  full  of 
sweat  and  truth,  it  includes  men  who  carry  fruit,  stalwart  harvesters 
who  sharpen  their  scythes,  and  men  who  roll  barrels  as  if  a  barrel 
were  a  world;  skin-scrapers  and  brickmakers,  labourers  carrying  a 
plank,  platelayers  with  their  crowbars  and  in  a  shimmer  of  light, 
which  seems  to  put  tremulous  vibration  into  their  movements  and 
clothes;  musicians  as  happy  as  bees  on  a  fine  day;  tapping  a  furnace, 
steel-making,  a  Spanish  wineshop,  and  the  act  of  unloading  oranges 
from  boxes.  Here  is  humanity  at  grip  with  stern  old  facts,  and 
every  fact  an  element  of  primal  poetry.  "  In  the  sweat  of  thy  brow 
shalt  thou  eat  bread."  In  one  form  or  other  we  all  suffer  bodily 
punishment ;  and  who  does  not  prefer  a  lean  harvester  to  the  paunch 
carried  before  him  by  a  sleek  alderman?  The  velvet  of  lithography 
is  a  friend  in  Brangwyn's  hard-handed  men  to  some  qualities,  elusive 
and  most  attractive,  that  etching  cannot  give  so  well;  and  for  this 
reason  Brangwyn's  outcast  or  beggar  comes  before  us  in  lithographs 
with  a  new  appeal,  illustrating  differently  the  famous  lines  from  La 
Fontaine:— 

"  (^uel  plaisir  a-t-il  eu  depuis  qu'il  est  au  monde  ? 
En  est-il  un  plus  pauvre  en  la  machine  ronde  ? " 

It  is  often  a  surprise  to  me  that  our  philanthropic  societies  fail  to 
put  upon  our  hoardings  everywhere  great  posters  like  Brangwyn's 
lithographs  of  beggars  in  order  to  advertise  many  horrors  that  pro- 
pagating poverty  and  vice  collect  into  national  legacies.  Let  us  as  a 
people  shame  and  scourge  ourselves  into  reform. 
Now  and  then  Brangwyn  has  gone  to  old  history  for  his  litho- 
graphs, as  in  "Columbus  Sighting  the  New  World"  and  "Hadrian 
Building  His  Wall";  and  these  good  subjects  also  are  fit  for  our 
street  galleries  if  we  wish  graphic  and  pictorial  art  to  become  con- 
stant elements  after  this  war  in  discreet  education. 


[98 


CHAPTER  XIV  AFTER  THE  WAR:  REFORMATION 
AND  RE-FORMATION  :  BRANGWYN  IN  RELATION 
TO   LABOUR    CLUBS    AND    HALLS 


s  national  welhire  depends  on 
bravery,  truth  and  honour,  loyalty 
and  hard  work,  each  man  at  his 
post  and  fit  for  his  job,  let  us 
apply  once  more  to  citizen  needs, 
current  and  future,  the  national  right  feeling  of  Brangwyn's  outlook 
and  work. 

Shakespeare  says,  "  There  is  no  English  soul  more  stronger  to  direct 
you  than  yourself."  A  fact  inspiring  to  self-help;  but  yet  it 
lights  up  only  some  parts  of  a  sovereign  truth  as  good  for  us  all,  as 
are  fine  dreams  made  real  by  finer  deeds.  From  Shakespeare  himself 
we  learn  that  our  inherited  guide  and  guard  as  a  people,  now  and  tor 
ever,  is  the  soul  of  England  that  reigns  among  her  best  doings. 
And  it  is  also  a  fact  that  few,  except  genuine  artists,  before  this  war 
and  since  19 14,  have  tried  to  grasp  in  tuU  what  the  soul  of  England 
should  be  to  each  generation.  Brangwyn,  Kipling,  Henry  Newbolt, 
for  example,  have  seen  deeper  into  this  cardinal  matter  than  our 
politicians,  who  chatter  on  and  on  as  nympholepts  ot  democracy, 
though  there  is  no  democracy  in  naval  and  military  discipline,  and 
although  democratic  disunity  took  us  unprepared  into  this  long- 
threatened  war. 

There  are  four  beliefs  of  immediate  necessity  to  the  soul  of  England, 
and  they  are  beliefs  which  no  political  party  can  oppose  without 
evident  unreason  and  wrongdoing: — 

I.  That  England's  wealth  is  not  merely  material  wealth  —  the 
number  of  acres  she  has  tilled  and  cultivated,  her  havens  filled  with 
shipping,  her  vast  factories  and  her  mines,  imports  and  exports. 
Not  these  alone,  nor  her  Colonies  and  great  daughter  States,  form 
England's  principal  wealth  and  power;  for  she  has,  what  Disraeli 
loved  as  "a  more  precious  treasure" — the  character  of  her  people; 
and  this  character  has  been  injured  by  the  ungluing  ferments  of 
modernity.  Freedom  has  passed  from  a  river  into  a  flood.  As  a 
people  we  have  become  far  too  emotional,  for  example.  To  free 
England  from  gush  and  shoddy,  in  order  to  renew  in  all  workman- 

199 


ship  her  proud  old  temper  of  breadth,  vigour,  reserve,  candour,  and 
endurance,  is  a  beautiful  duty  resting  upon  us  all  as  an  imperious 
obligation. 

2.  That  British  home  life  must  pass  through  a  long  series  of 
improvements,  fitted  to  ease  expenses  and  to  displace  cares  by  con- 
tentment. 

3.  That  British  M^orkmen  everywhere  need  and  should  have  an 
industrial  position  as  fortunate  as  that  which  Mr.  Millbank,  in 
Coningsby,  the  prototype  of  Lord  Leverhulme,  gives  with  affectionate 
justice  and  pride  to  his  wage-  and  wealth-earners. 

4.  That  we  must  learn  to  distinguish  between  political  ferment  and 
social  improvement. 

Politics  may  try  to  muddle  all  these  things ;  they  deserve  the  cutting 
verdict  which  Disraeli  passed  upon  them.  But  artists  have  no  right- 
ful place  in  party  misadventures :  their  creed  always  should  be  their 
country's  welfare ;  and  if  they  concen-trate  their  energies  on  three 
peremptory  needs — the  restoration  of  British  workmanship,  a  general 
improvement  in  British  homes,  and  alert  justice  not  to  Labour  only, 
but  also  to  every  class  whose  incomes  are  uncertain  and  small — they 
cannot  fail  as  national  doers  and  incentives.  For  these  reasons  Brang- 
wyn's  mind  and  heart  are  set  on  ideas  and  projects  which,  if  carried 
boldly  into  thorough  action,  not  by  artists  one  by  one,  of  course,  but 
by  artists  as  a  body,  with  full  support  from  their  societies.  Royal  and 
other,  would  aid  all  workers  who  are  ready  to  aid  themselves^  which  is 
the  sovereign  temper  in  social  recovery  and  advancement.  Not  by 
philanthropic  effort,  with  its  amateurish  fuss  and  fume,  c^n  anything 
be  done  that  is  national  and  inspired  by  public  dignity  and  self- 
respect.  What  philanthropy  would  be  needful  if  nations  were  in 
sound,  robust  health  ?  Charities  are  nurses  only,  while  duties  to  the 
State  are  true  physicians. 

Brangwyn  is  eager  to  do  what  his  experience  fits  him  to  undertake. 
He  knows  at  first-hand  the  outside  welter  of  human  realities,  and, 
looking  for  reformation  in  re-formation,  desires  to  see  contentment 
as  a  citizen  among  those  who  feel  most  keenly  the  increasing  pres- 
sure of  industrialism  upon  physical  stamina  and  home  life. 
Though  his  work  never  preaches,  never  drifts  into  such  commonweal 
sermons  as  Victorian  artists  often  composed,  like  Dickens,  Charles 
Reade,   Ruskin,  and  others,  yet  its  best  achievements  are   like   all 

200 


W MJ    |(iMI-R:      'in    the    BELGIAN    TRENCHES. 


observed  facts  and  truths  alembicated  from  special  stress  and  strain 
and  great  drama;  they  contain  material  from  which  historians  of 
the  future  will  gather  correct  views  of  to-day's  conditions  and  warn- 
ings. Towards  four  or  five  phases  of  our  life — as  to  seafaring,  for 
instance,  and  industrialism — Brangwyn  has  been  a  good  historian, 
and  no  part  of  his  wide  outlook  is  fatalistic  as  Millet  was  fatalistic. 
He  believes  in  general  improvement  and  Millet  did  not.  Millet 
asks  us  to  have  faith  in  technical  progress  only  and  to  delete  society 
from  advancement.  "What  everyone  ought  to  do,"  he  said  in  1854, 
"is  to  seek  progress  in  his  own  profession.  Everything  else  is  dream 
or  calculation."  Feeling  no  desire  to  improve  the  lot  of  peasants, 
Millet  relates  how  he  wants  "the  beings  whom  he  represents  to  have 
an  appearance  of  being  bound  to  their  position  so  that  it  should  be 
impossible  to  imagine  them  having  an  idea  of  being  anything  else." 
And  Millet  enjoyed  melancholy,  a  deep  genuine  sadness.  "  It 
might  almost  be  said  that  if  sadness  did  not  exist,  Millet  would 
have  made  it  afresh,  so  singular  is  the  charm  which  it  had  for  him," 
says  Remain  Rolland.  Bitter  poverty  often  gnawed  into  his  home, 
and  he  accepted  it  without  surprise  and  without  rebellion.  It 
belonged  to  his  lot  as  the  peasant  of  peasants,  always  melancholy, 
never  depressed,  "  The  joyful  side  never  appears  to  me,"  he  writes. 
"  /  have  never  seen  it.  The  most  cheerful  things  I  know  are  calm 
and  silence.  .  .  .  Even  art  is  not  a  diversion :  it  is  a  conflict,  a 
complication  of  wheels  in  which  one  is  crushed.  .  .  .  Pain  is 
perhaps  the  thing  that  gives  artists  the  strotigest  power  of  expression ^ 
And  his  own  life  was  certainly  inhabited  by  pain. 
Great  art  Millet  got  from  his  melancholy,  his  inspired  gloom  and 
pain,  but  from  such  a  temperament  no  social  advance  could  come  to 
society ;  and  better  that  men  in  the  bulk  should  cease  to  be  than 
that  they  should  be  unable  in  the  bulk  to  improve.  There  is  no 
abiding  place  between  "  Let  us  improve  "  and  "  Let  us  backslide." 
What  we  need,  then,  are  able  workers  who  are  also  men  ot  action, 
high-spirited  and  enterprising;  and  if  Brangwyn  is  not  an  artist  ot 
action,  what  is  he  .?  Into  many  social  needs  both  he  and  other 
artists  can  put  ever  more  and  more  of  their  ameliorating  zeal  if  they 
are  aided  by  those  who  scorn  intellectual  timidity. 


2D  201 


II 


Let  us  take  the  use  and  abuse  of  liquor,  in  order  to  see  what  artists 
can  do  as  craftsmen  to  improve  bad  industrial  conditions  friendly  to 
intemperance.  About  eighty  years  ago  many  hosts  were  aggrieved 
if  their  male  guests  at  dinner  did  not  get  inside  their  cups;  and 
there  were  thirty-two  slang  expressions  to  describe  a  merry  fall  from 
elevated  joy  through  potvaliance  to  the  table  legs.  Even  Charles 
Dickens  in  Pickwick  Papers  grows  a  great  deal  of  his  fun  and 
humour  from  vines  and  hops.  His  pages  are  steeped  in  good  wine 
and  in  other  drinks.  Since  then  a  quite  wonderful  improvement 
has  taken  place ;  yet  we  hear  to-day  from  many  quarters  a  more 
fanatical  outcry  against  an  abuse  of  liquor  than  was  ever  heard 
before  in  free  England,  whose  people  always  have  been  nearer  to 
FalstafF  than  to  any  wish  to  have  total  abstinence  enforced  by  Act 
of  Parliament.  Is  it  forgotten  that  by  far  the  noblest  boon  in  life 
is  the  fact  that  we  have  to  choose  all  day  long  between  the  use  and 
abuse  of  good  things  ?  Providence  allows  no  man  to  live  free  from 
an  unceasing  choice  between  enough  and  too  much. 
So  it  is  an  act  of  good  sense  to  be  at  odds  with  dragooning 
teetotalism,  which  is  good  only  for  persons  and  nations  unable  to 
choose  between  enough  and  too  much.  As  Lord  Morley  says, 
"  You  pass  a  law  (if  you  can)  putting  down  drunkenness ;  there  is  a 
neatness  in  such  a  method  very  attractive  to  fervid  and  impatient 
natures.  Would  you  not  have  done  better  to  leave  that  law  un- 
passed,  and  apply  yourselves  sedulously  instead  to  the  improvement 
of  the  dwellings  of  the  more  drunken  class,  to  the  provision  of 
amusements  that  might  compete  with  the  alehouse,  to  the  extension 
and  elevation  of  instruction,  and  so  on  ?  You  may  say  that  this 
should  be  done,  and  yet  the  other  should  not  be  left  undone;  but, 
as  a  matter  of  fact  and  history,  the  doing  of  the  one  has  always 
gone  with  the  neglect  of  the  other,  and  ascetic  lawmaking  in  the 
interests  of  virtue  has  never  been  accompanied  either  by  lawmaking 
or  any  other  kinds  of  activity  for  making  virtue  easier  or  more 
attractive.  It  is  the  recognition  how  little  punishment  can  do  that 
leaves  men  free  to  see  how  much  social  prevention  can  do." 
The  main  problem  is  to  improve  wrong  conditions  without  raising 
public  opposition,  and  without  forming  habits  or  customs  that  abase 
citizen  ideals  by  lowering  civil  and  personal  self-respect ;  and  only  a 
social  problem  here  and  there  is  difficult  in  morals,  however  costly 


202 


it  may  be  in  money  put  out  at  delayed  interest, 
when  it  is  looked  at  as  a  matter  of  business,  to 
be  done  well  and  as  a  duty  to  England  and  the 
future. 

There  is  nothing  difficult  in  the  moral  idea  or 
giving  seamen  good  clubs  and  halls  in  every  pest- 
haunted  harbour  around  our  coasts,  for  example. 
Philanthropy  has  done  a  great  deal  since  Nelson's 
time  to  benefit  our  seamen's  lot  ashore,  but 
philanthropy  carries  with  it  evils  of  abasement. 
Instead  of  inviting  sailors  to  be  masters  of  self- 
help,  it  asks  them  to  run  from  vice  to  a  pleading 
shelter,  as  ducklings  waddle  from  rats  to  a  hen's 
wings.  Let  us  give  them  clubs  and  halls  entirely 
freed  from  philanthropic  much  ado,  taking  care 
to  advertise  them  on  all  ships,  to  endow  them 
with  rules  approved  by  officers  and  men,  and  to  put  into  them  as 
much  varied  comfort  and  attraction  as  art — that  is,  good  and  apt 
work — can  produce  for  men  who  are  essential  to  our  sea  power  and 
seafaring  wealth. 

Think  of  a  seamen's  club  or  hall  decorated  with  marine  pictures  by 
Brangwyn,  some  from  naval  adventures  and  others  from  exploits  of 
fishing  fleets  and  our  great  merchant  service.  The  hall  could  be  an 
epitome  of  our  seagoing  history,  past  and  present ;  and  can  anyone 
suppose  that  it  would  not  "  draw,"  that  it  would  not  be  loved  by 
every  sailor  that  could  take  his  ease  in  an  inn  of  such  good  luck,  or 
that  it  would  not  decrease  from  year  to  year  those  foul  temptations 
that  are  leered  and  ogled  upon  sailors  in  every  seaport  .?  Years  ago 
the  late  G.  T.  Robinson  designed  for  a  ship  of  the  White  Star  Line 
a  series  of  modelled  slabs,  on  which  the  evolution  of  ships  was 
represented,  and  he  told  me  that  this  work,  carried  out  by  a  good 
sculptor,  was  visited  by  sailors  whenever  they  got  a  chance  of  seeing 
its  many  varied  interests.  This  being  the  effect  of  sculpture  in  flat 
relief,  consider  the  impression  that  marine  and  naval  pictures  would 
make  from  Brangwyn's  great-hearted  and  sumptuous  colour  and 
vigour ! 

Here,  for  example,  are  two  great  series  of  sea  actions,  reproduced  in 
colour  hy  Scribner  s  Magazine  in  August,  1903,  and  November,  1907. 
The  earlier  set  in  four  noble  subjects  illustrates  Hilaire  Belloc's 
"  The   Sea   Fight   off  Ushant."     One   picture   shows   grandly   how 

203 


"  Lord  Howe  sails  from  Spithead,"  under  a  towering  spread  of  sail, 
and  with  battleships  and  cruisers,  while  supply-boats  dally  along  a 
heaving  foreground ;  and  behind  it  all  is  a  pageant  of  English  sky, 
islanded  in  blue  among  windblown  clouds,  gray  and  exquisite  in  tone 
and  protean  mass.  Spirited  and  inspiriting  colour  sings  from  every 
nook  and  corner,  free  and  fresh  and  breezy,  yet  pent-up  with  motive 
power,  like  those  bellying  sails.  To  look  at  this  naval  episode  is  to 
become  a  mariner.  Imagine  this  picture  framed  by  Brangwyn  in  a 
panelled  wall  for  a  billiard-room  in  a  seamen's  club.  Would  it 
perform  no  great  office  in  the  most  rational  phases  of  urgent 
national  service  ? 

"  The  '  Brunswick '  caught  Anchors  with  her  Enemy  "  is  another 
subject,  and  equally  fit  for  such  a  sailors'  billiard-room.  Battle-smoke 
adds  a  gray  mystery  to  rich  colour,  and  our  great  English  ship — 
beautifully  drawn,  with  a  fluent  brush  full  of  affisction,  her  sails 
here  and  there  showing  how  shots  have  rumpled  and  pierced  their 
setting  and  their  rhythm — rises  on  a  swell  of  tide  above  her  much- 
damaged  foe,  while  along  her  side  there  runs  a  thrill  that  denotes 
the  eager  gathering  of  boarders.  Is  there  no  tingling  of  naval  war 
in  your  blood  .?  "  How  the  '  Vengeur '  went  down  "  comes  next — a 
grim  requiem  at  sea  during  a  battle.  All  buoyancy  has  gone  from 
this  vessel ;  she  appears  to  sink  as  a  fact,  inevitably,  and  with  a 
grandeur  that  a  good  fight  has  wrapped  around  her  like  a  torn 
shroud.  In  the  foreground  two  rescue  boats  hail  a  remnant  of  crew 
on  the  Vengeur  s  deck,  while  the  tragedian  sea  is  engaged  in  her  old, 
old  work  of  swallowing  up  wrecks  and  the  defeated.  And  now  we 
turn  to  actual  fighting  at  close  quarters  on  an  English  battleship,  to 
watch  "  The  Best  Gunners  in  Europe  [or  anywhere  else,  let  us  be 
thankful]  for  Sea-fighting."  Here  is  a  revel  of  colour  and  of 
action;  a  superlative  Brangwyn,  a  chaos  that  resolves  itself  into  a 
drama  brimming  with  life  and  animated  and  varied  form.  Would 
that  these  four  pictures  were  in  a  seamen's  hall,  with  two  or  three 
from  our  present  war !  If  this  idea  is  not  good,  if  it  is  not  worth 
advocating,  let  me  be  "a  peppercorn  and  a  brewer's  horse,"  as  old 
Falstaff  says. 

The  other  series,  illustrating  John  C.  Fitzpatrick's  "  The  Spanish 
Galleon,"  has  also  four  plates  in  colour — the  immortal  fight  of  the 
little  "  Revenge,"  more  remarkable  than  a  fight  between  a  voracious 
thrasher  shark  and  a  huge  tempestuous  whale ;  "  The  Great  Galleon 
Fair,"  "  Galleons  sailing  from   Cadiz,"  and   "  Loading  a   Galleon." 

204 


Here  are  splashing  harmonies,  profuse,  glad-hearted,  and  as  typical 
of  Brangwyn  in  passions  of  colour  as  they  are  of  departed  seafaring, 
which  for  ever  will  hold  the  affection  of  those  who  delight  in  naval 
history.  Is  there  a  waterman  that  he  doesn't  understand  ?  All 
sorts  and  conditions  of  tars  delight  him,  from  Vikings  and  over- 
salted  sea-wolves,  veteran  buccaneers,  to  jollies,  bluejackets,  skippers, 
fishermen,  A.B.'s,  bargees,  coastguards,  gondoliers,  and  pierhead 
wiseacres  and  loafers.  Have  they  not  all  taken  berths  in  Brangwyn's 
varying  moods  and  methods  ?  And  there  they  will  live  on  and  on, 
let  us  hope,  as  long  as  his  paintings  and  his  graphic  arts  find 
answering  states  of  mind  and  gifts  in  human  nature. 
Surely  it  is  far  more  than  time  that  our  Government  should  consider 
with  a  will  the  best  means  by  which  this  great  master  of  true 
marine  adventure  can  be  employed  for  the  benefit  of  present  and 
future  seamen,  more  especially  as  three  or  four  questions  of  long- 
neglected  vital  interest,  such  as  the  spread  of  certain  virulent  diseases, 
have  come  to  the  forefront  since  19 14,  there  to  remain  with 
peremptory  self-assertion.  For  it  may  be  said,  without  a  shadow 
of  a  doubt,  that  the  sea  and  its  perils  will  be  to  future  generations 
of  our  country  even  much  more  important  as  influences  nearly  felt 
by  all  citizens  than  they  were  in  past  ages,  because  submarines  and 

205 


aircraft  have  invaded  history  with  durable  menaces  against  every 
island  not  selt-dependent,  and  also  against  all  nations  united  to  their 
destinies  by  sea-coming  and  sea-going  trade  and  traffic.  Ever  more 
and  more  England's  education  w^ill  have  to  dw^ell  on  ships  of  all 
sorts  and  air  fleets  and  submarines  for  their  guards  against  sudden 
armed  war;  and  thus  we  cannot  begin  too  soon,  as  a  people,  not 
only  to  meditate  over  this  forecasting  matter,  but  also  to  take  wise 
action  to  renew  among  civilians  a  skipper  feeling  and  a  true  admiral 
alertness.  Schools  of  every  sort,  and  Board  Schools  even  more  than 
others,  should  be  brought  close  to  such  marine  work  as  Brangwyn's 
and  Napier  Hemy's;  and  if  two  or  three  Board  Schools  in  all  big 
towns,  and  in  other  districts  also,  were  devoted  always  to  the 
education  of  sailor  boys,  nothing  but  great  good  would  arise  from  a 
training  so  useful  and  essential  to  England's  welfare.  Add  to  this 
the  patriotism  of  seamen's  clubs  and  halls,  with  other  kindred 
associations  and  institutions  for  other  workmen,  and  national  art 
and  rational  free  life  would  soon  be  as  closely  at  one  as  they  ought 
always  to  be  in  progressive  citizenship. 


Ill 


England  was  a  merrier  country,  and  greater  also  in  all  essentials  of 
good  honest  workmanship,  when  every  class  took  its  ease  in  its  inns, 
as  the  French  take  their  ease  in  cafes,  and  in  other  rallying  places 
for  their  sociable  temper.  Our  modernized  public-house,  as  a  rule, 
makes  men  into  thirst's  prisoners  at  the  bar,  it  is  as  remote  from  true 
citizenship  as  it  is  close  to  bad  manners,  and  this  fact  has  received 
some  official  attention  since  19 14,  with  help  from  several  architects. 
Let  us  try  to  evolve  bars  into  homelike  inns  where  cheery  talk  will 
be  of  more  account  than  thirst,  and  where  overworked  wives  may 
find  with  their  men  a  chattering  leisure  apart  from  their  dull,  drab 
cares.  Surely  here  is  one  thing  to  be  desired,  for  it  is  a  thing 
as  English  as  the  English  language.  Do  you  remember  how 
Dr.  Johnson,  an  epitome  of  England,  used  to  thank  his  lucky  stars 
that  his  native  land  triumphed  over  the  French  in  her  inns  and 
taverns.?  "There  is  no  private  house,"  said  he,  "in  which  people  can 
enjoy  themselves  so  well  as  at  a  capital  tavern.  .  .  .  The  master  of 
the  house  is  anxious  to  entertain  his  guests — the  guests  are  anxious 
to  be  agreeable  to  him;  and  no  man,  but  a  very  impudent  dog  in- 
deed, can  as  freely  command  what  is  in  another  man's  house,  as  if  it 

206 


were  his  own.  Whereas,  at  a  tavern,  there  is  a  general  freedom 
from  anxiety.  You  are  sure  you  are  welcome;  and  the  more  noise 
you  make,  the  more  trouble  you  give,  the  more  good  things  you 
call  for,  the  welcomer  you  are.  .  .  .  No,  sir,  there  is  nothing  which 
has  been  contrived  by  man,  by  which  so  much  happiness  is  produced 
as  by  a  good  tavern  or  inn.  ...  As  soon  as  I  enter  the  door  of  a 
tavern,  I  experience  an  oblivion  of  care,  and  a  freedom  from  solici- 
tude." So  he  spoke  of  a  tavern  chair  as  "the  throne  of  human 
felicity."  Let  this  minor  English  throne,  with  an  ordered  good 
fellowship,  belong  once  more  to  the  English  people.  Rules  are  easy 
to  make,  and  not  hard  to  protect. 

And  artists  of  all  sorts  can  aid  in  many  ways  to  bring  about  this 
revival.  Some  can  work  for  it,  while  others  can  contribute  books, 
pictures,  etchings,  and  so  forth,  which  they  cannot  sell  or  do  not 
need,  sending  such  gifts  to  a  municipal  warehouse  to  be  shared 
among  inns  of  their  neighbourhood.  Thousands  of  good  things, 
year  after  year,  litter  studios  and  studies.  Why  not  give  them  to 
homes  of  friendly  talk  called  inns.?  And  I  believe,  too,  that  Labour 
should  have  ceremonial  clubs  and  halls  free  to  all  comers,  where 
class  could  meet  class  apart  from  ballot-box  rivalries,  with  those 
narrowing  and  impoverishing  habits  of  mind  that  men  hackney  when 
they  read  always  the  same  political  views  and  jeer  at  all  others.  To 
listen  to  views  unlike  your  own  is  the  beginning  of  social  fairplay, 
of  honour  in  politics;  for  what  just  value  can  you  set  by  your  own 
views  if  you  have  never  studied  rival  opinions  .?  And  how  can 
you  be  sure  that  your  vote  is  not  a  national  peril,  as  were  those  that 
sanctioned  in  pre-war  days  a  most  culpable  unreadiness  for  defence, 
unless  you  review  with  the  utmost  frankness  all  political  beliefs,  con- 
victions, fads,  and  illusions.? 

So  I  think  of  a  ceremonial  Labour  club  as  a  great  and  vast  hall  where 
opinions  of  a  thousand  sorts  would  meet  on  given  days  in  candid  and 
friendly  debate ;  a  hall  noble  as  architecture,  noble  also  as  an  exhibi- 
tion of  British  furniture  and  mural  painting,  with  a  central  stage  or 
platform  and  a  speaker's  chair,  and  around  this  platform  a  fine  cafe. 
There  should  be  two  galleries  from  which  men  and  women  would  enter 
reading-rooms,  billiard-rooms,  and  a  good  library,  all  fine  as  architec- 
ture and  in  mural  decoration.  If  every  big  town  had  a  hall  with  this 
true  citizen  appeal.  Labour  could  not  fail  to  lose  a  great  deal  of  its 
breeding  discontent,  inherited  from  such  wrongs  as  Disraeli  portrays 
in    Sybil.     It   would   be    delighted,   encouraged    and   uplifted  ;    and 

207 


during  many  years  there  would  be  abundant  scope  for  right  patron- 
age of  excellent  craftsmanship.  Art  and  Labour  could  be  made  into 
associates  and  chums. 

In  this  dream  I  think  always  of  Brangwyn,  not  only  because  no 
decorative  painter  of  to-day  has  risen  to  his  level  as  a  splendid  colourist 
and  what  the  French  call  a  "visionnaire  prodigieux,"  but  also  because 
he  alone  is  an  ample  and  a  robust  poet  among  industrial  and  commer- 
cial affairs,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  and  also  in  many  old  historic 
aspects.  It  is  a  regret  to  me  that  the  mural  paintings  which  he 
has  done  for  the  Skinners'  Hall,  and  Lloyd's  Registry,  and  Louis 
Mullgardt's  Court  of  the  Ages  at  the  Panama-Pacific  Exhibition,  are 
not  to  be  found  in  British  Labour  Clubs.  Neither  Lloyd's  Registry 
nor  the  Skinners'  Hall  is  free  enough  to  all  the  world  to  be  a  public 
home  for  great  mural  painting,  which  needs  for  the  exercise  of  its 
public  influence  what  good  books  and  plays  need  always — the  widest 
publicity  that  can  be  granted.  The  noble  work  done  for  St.  Aidan's 
Church  at  Leeds  is  different ;  it  belongs  to  the  whole  nation ;  every- 
one can  see  it  who  has  a  wish  to  see  it ;  and  as  for  the  Brangwyns  at 
Christ's  Hospital — The  Stoning  of  Stephen,  for  instance,  The  Arrival 
of  St.  Paul  at  Rome,  St.  Paul  reaches  shore  after  Shipwreck,  St.  Wil- 
frid teaching  the  Southern  Saxons  how  to  fish,  St.  Ambrose  train- 
ing his  choir  at  Milan,  The  Conversion  of  St.  Augustine  at  Milan, 
St.  Augustine  at  Ebbsfleet,  and  The  Scourging  of  St.  Alban — are  they 
not  finely  placed  in  a  school  that  ranks  high  among  the  best  that 
Europe  knows.? 

A  book  on  all  these  mural  paintings  is  to  be  published  at  a  fitting 
time  by  another  interpreter  of  Brangwyn's  genius — and  published 
with  great  success,  I  hope.  But  when  they  are  studied  in  sketches 
and  cartoons,  some  in  black  chalk,  others  in  glowing  pastels  or  in 
swift,  blobby,  most  expressive  oil  studies,  they  have  also  a  rare  charm 
like  Charles  Dickens's  confidential  letters  to  friends  about  his  next 
book  or  the  book  upon  which  he  is  engaged.  Or  we  may  affirm, 
without  any  great  extravagance,  that  Brangwyn's  preparatory  sketches 
and  cartoons  are  the  scaffolding  of  his  vast  mural  pictures.  Some 
decorative  painters  put  so  much  energy  into  their  cartoons  that  they 
have  not  enough  reserved  to  carry  them,  with  a  generous,  life-giving 
zest  and  rhythm,  through  their  second  and  major  campaign,  the 
transformation  of  cartoons  into  paintings  that  breathe  and  generate 
growth  until  they  are  as  complete  as  they  need  be.  In  Brangwyn's 
case,  without  exception,  a  cartoon  is  a  scaffolding  only,  and   thus 

208 


i"PS9H5S""^" '  J-^'''''^ 


I.    I'AUL    I'RKACHING."     CARJU'J.N    1  i.JK    A    TANK].    IN 
111-;     CHAPKI,     AT     CHRIST'S      HOSPITAI,.      HOIJSHAM 


inferior  by  far  to  its  transmutation  into 
its  destined  place  upon  a  wall  as  a 
symphony  of  mingled  life  and  action 
and  colour  in  a  large  decorative  scheme 
allied  with  an  architectural  setting. 
For  a  painter-colourist,  as  soon  as  he  is 
at  ease  on  ample  spreads  of  surface  and 
with  big  brushes,  finds  his  most  desirable 
and  fitting  tools  among  those  that  bring 
his  work  to  completion ;  just  as  a  great 
composer,  who  writes  for  orchestras  and 
opera  singing  and  staging,  wins  more 
freedom  and  more  inspiration  from  his 
accustomed  work  than  from  solos  for 
single  instruments  and  private  rooms  or 
small  concert  halls.  Colourist-painters 
of  the  first  rank  are  at  least  as  uncommon  as  great  masters  of  the 
opera ;  and  if  I  venture  to  call  Brangwyn  our  Wagner  in  the  realms 
of  sumptuous  colour  and  dramatic  decoration,  I  believe  that  this 
new  analogy  will  be  found  useful.  They  are  many  who  fail  to  pass 
through  his  natural  mannerisms  into  his  frequent  grandeur  as  a 
master  of  decoration. 

It  is  the  connection  of  one  part  with  another,  and  the  bearing  of 
external  matters,  such  as  colour,  not  only  upon  each  and  upon  all,  but 
also  upon  an  artist's  niood,  inspiration  and  purpose,  that  most  on- 
lookers fail  to  see  in  a  cartoon  or  a  mural  painting.  From  mere 
simplicity  and  want  of  appreciation,  they  do  not  look  at  things  as 
parts  of  a  whole,  nor  at  outward  aspects  as  visible  signs  and  tokens  of 
inward  motion  and  passion,  and  often  they  will  sacrifice  the  most 
vital  and  precious  portions  of  an  artist's  own  magic  merely  to  note 
what  everyone  else  can  see  at  a  casual  glance.  Thus,  for  example, 
the  sovereign  quality  of  Brangwyn's  cartoons  and  mural  paintings, 
its  most  welcome  grace  from  a  public  and  national  standpoint,  has  not 
been  studied  by  any  writer  whom  I  have  read,  nor  even  so  much  as 
recorded  bluntly  as  a  fact.  Yet  this  grace  gives  an  atmosphere  to 
every  mural  study  and  painting  that  Brangwyn  has  produced.  It  is 
partly  an  aloofness  from  gloom,  a  good  health  that  scorns  melancholy, 
morbid  thought  and  drooping,  though  it  rarelv  draws  near  to  Milton's 
conception  of  Euphrosyne,  goddess  of  Mirth,  who,  with  jest  and 
youthful  jollity,  quips  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles,  nods  and  becks, 

2    E  20Q 


and  wreathed  smiles,  gets  rid  of  wrinkled  care  and  sets  Laughter  to 
hold  both  his  sides.  Mere  aloofness  from  gloom  would  not  be  rare 
enough  to  endow  virile  work,  with  an  original  atmosphere,  this  quality 
being  evident  among  decorative  painters  of  the  Italian  decadence, 
as  in  those  Rossos  and  Primatices  at  Fontainebleau,  which  appealed 
so  potently  as  opposites  to  sorrowful  Millet,  who  enjoyed  not  merely 
their  pulse  of  life,  their  glad  and  rough  good  humour,  but  also  their 
inbred  and  natural  afl-ectation.  "  One  could  stay  for  hours  before 
these  kind  giants,"  said  Millet,  "noting  recollections  in  their  art  of 
the  Lancelots  and  the  Amadises,  all  as  childish  as  a  fairy-tale,  yet  as 
real  as  the  simplicity  of  bygone  days." 

If  Brangwyn  went  no  farther  than  these  Italians  his  deleting  of  gloom 
from  decorative  painting  would  be  in  many  respects  a  revival,  but  he 
does  go  farther,  like  those  of  us  who  wish  to  disenshroud  old  inevit- 
able death  from  craped  pomp  and  threatening  music,  in  order  to 
array  him  in  colours  and  hopes  humbly  promiseful  of  another  and 
better  life  beyond  the  few  years  of  this  one.  Even  in  such  a  tragedy 
as  the  stoning  of  Stephen  we  are  present — not  at  a  marvellous  event 
which  seems  for  ever  contemporary  with  mankind,  as  in  Brangwyn's 
"The  Crucifixion,"  but — at  an  episode  from  religious  persecution 
away  off  from  ourselves,  inevitable  since  it  happened,  and  never  likely 
to  be  repeated ;  hence  we  should  renew  the  crime  of  it  if  we  brought 
it  near  to  ourselves  in  a  mural  painting  inflamed  with  realistic  frenzy 
and  terror.  It  is  as  a  dream,  not  as  a  nightmare,  that  Brangwyn  calls 
up  into  pictorial  presence  the  death  ot  Stephen,  and  a  dream  that  has 
a  sort  of  aureola,  a  questioning  contentment  which  is  to  it  as  a  nimbus 
or  halo.  The  spirit  of  the  whole  conception  and  its  realisation  seems 
to  say  :  "If  no  such  events  as  this  one  had  happened,  are  we  sure  that 
the  Gospels  would  have  passed  from  land  to  land  and  from  age  to  age 
as  permanent  lights  to  be  hidden  often  by  human  follies.?  Are  we 
sure  that  martyrdom  with  its  crown  of  thorns  is  not  the  only  enthroned 
glory  that  enables  mortals  to  feel  the  immortality  of  the  loftiest  faiths  ? 
In  any  case,  though  life  is  a  mystery  inextricable,  yet  a  great  deal  of 
its  hidden  meaning  grows  into  the  minds  of  those  who,  understanding 
the  eternal  contrast  between  Christmas  and  the  Crucifixion,  are  glad 
to  have  big  things  to  do  in  the  midst  of  grave  difficulties." 
The  same  temper  comes  to  us  also  from  Brangwyn's  decoration  ot 
"  The  Scourging  of  St.  Alban,"  history  at  a  distance  from  us  and 
veiled  not  by  the  ages  only,  but  also  by  that  just  hope  without 
which   all  capacity  to  improve  withers.     St.  Wilfrid  in  the  act  of 

2IO 


teaching  the  Southern  Saxons  how  to  catch  fish  with  a  net,  is  a 
glad-hearted  episode;  and  when  we  turn  to  St.  Augustine,  an  austere 
and  ascetic  white  figure,  seated  amid  an  arbour  of  figs,  we  see  how 
he  wrestles  with  mute  hrave  woe  against  his  inner  self,  while 
children  sing  to  him;  and  across  the  foreground,  where  some  other 
children  stand  as  onlookers,  open  and  tall  white  lilies  are  as  full  of 
joy  as  they  are  of  beauty. 

As  for  the  ten  tempera  paintings  done  for  Lloyd's  Registry,  and 
shown  first  of  all  in  a  special  room  at  the  Ghent  Exhibition,  they 
were  designed  and  carried  out  for  a  purpose  so  charged  with 
difficulties  that  preparatory  work  needed  unusual  will-power. 
Imagine  a  very  large  room  panelled  with  oak.  It  has  a  barrel  roof 
and  a  top  window.  The  roof,  like  a  phase  of  decoration  loved  by 
our  Henry  III,  true  patron  of  the  English  Home,  is  bright  with 
stars  dappled  on  a  lozenge  moulding  that  is  painted  a  deep  and  rich 
blue.  At  a  height  of  some  eight  feet  from  the  floor  there  are  places 
for  nine  decorative  paintings,  all  of  the  same  size,  about  nine  feet 
by  five  feet,  and  they  draw  our  eyes  towards  a  culminating  point — 
a  vast  lunette,  more  than  eighteen  feet  by  ten  feet.  Brangwyn 
decided  that  he  would  fill  his  nine  panels  with  workmen  of  various 
sorts,  all  in  the  midst  of  rich  and  happy  colours,  as  when  men 
gather  grapes  and  pumpkins,  or  display  rich  carpets  from  the  East; 
and  that  he  would  place  behind  them  as  much  majestic  plenty  as  he 
could  suggest  as  a  part  of  our  commerce.  His  studies  for  all  these 
things  are  most  varied  and  apt,  though  we  cannot  say  of  them  they 
are  the  most  perfect  expression  of  his  emotion,  his  real  artistic  media. 
As  regards  the  huge  lunette,  Brangwyn  used  it  as  a  space  upon 
which  he  could  sum  up  with  power  the  genius  of  mechanical 
industry,  choosing  for  his  motif  the  final  stage  in  the  making  of 
a  big  ship's  boiler.  A  blast  furnace  near  at  hand,  a  foreman 
explaining  a  plan  to  his  assistants,  other  men  in  strong  light  ham- 
mering on  iron  bars,  and  a  blue  sky  as  a  background  also  to  the 
tall  chimneys  that  mark  what  Victorians  called  a  hive  of  in- 
dustry. Some  men  on  the  boiler  add  height  to  the  great  central 
mass  of  the  composition,  and  prevent  it  from  being  too  horizontal 
in  the  arrangement  of  its  planes. 

For  Louis  Mullgardt's  Court  of  Abundance,  or  Court  of  the  Ages, 
at  the  Chicago  Exhibition,  with  its  most  varied  displays  of  colour 
in  architecture,  Brangwyn  painted  eight  decorations,  measuring  not 
less  than  twenty-five  by  twelve  feet  each.      His  motifs  are  the  four 

21  1 


elements — Earth,  Wir,  Fire,  and  Water,  each  of  which  is  symbolized 
by  two  paintings,  and  symbolized  with  a  freshness  and  simplicity 
that  have  their  welcome  source  in  Nature  herself  and  not  in 
emblematic  figures  from  a  routine  of  official  decoration.  "  Primitive 
Fire "  is  rather  disenchanted  by  the  fact  that  it  has  in  it  several 
models  who  have  appeared  in  several  other  Brangwyns,  while 
"  Industrial  Fire  "  is  just  what  it  should  be — a  revelation.  But  my 
favourite  is  "Air  ii :  The  Windmill,"  with  nude  children  at  its  base 
and  windblown  figures,  some  nude,  chivied  by  a  strong  breeze  along 
the  foreground. 

These  Brangwyn  decorations  are  within  the  enjoyment  of  all  persons 
who  are  natural  enough  to  feel  attractions  that  good  colour  radiates. 
To  place  and  keep  these  attractions  before  an  ever  increasing  number 
of  men  and  women,  busy  persons  who  toil  in  our  drab  towns  and 
bleak  climate,  is  a  patriotic  need ;  so  let  us  hope  that  no  more 
Brangwyn  decorations  will  go  abroad  or  be  shut  up  here  at  home 
from  the  common  crowd. 

I  write  as  an  Englishman,  believing  that  England's  inevitable  cause, 
now  and  ever,  must  be  her  honour  and  her  proud  self-respect ;  and 
that  her  pole-star,  beaconing  and  beckoning,  must  ever  be  her  own 
cresset  soul.  For  even  if  England  were  to  fall  through  the  delays  and 
follies  of  momentary  politicians,  her  soul,  with  its  thousand  years  of 
inspiring  prestige,  would  take  her  victor  captive.  Let  us  think  of 
England  as  we  think  of  Shakespeare.  Whole  editions  of  her  works 
may  come  and  go,  just  as  her  American  colonists  left  her;  yet  she 
will  remain  profuse  and  imperishable. 


'FRUIT   I'ICKERS":    SKKTCH    KOK   A   PANKI.   IN    Ml'l.I.. 

CARDTS  COURT  OK  THE  ACJES,  PANAMA  EXHIHITION 

f  r^ie  Blocks  lent  /m'  "  7Vic  Stiafio  "  Magtizinc) 


CHAPTER  XV  BOOK  ILLUSTRATION  AND 
DECORATION 

I 

Til  19  lo  I  published  a  chapter 
Ion  these  vahiable  ofF-shoots  from 
Brangwyn's  versatihtv,  choosing 
here  and  there  some  examples 
from  his  early  bread-and-butter 
work,  with  some  specimens  of  earnest  and  genuine  "parerga,"  as  the 
Greeks  named  the  byplay  efforts  of  their  hobby  hours.  To-day 
I  wish  to  recall  some  other  early  work,  and  to  speak  also  of  those 
books  into  which,  since  19 10,  Brangwyn  has  put  much  time,  thought 
and  invention. 

During  these  eight  years  our  publishers  have  been  pretty  keen  and 
wide-awake.  They  have  issued  with  the  utmost  care  a  good  many 
beautiful  books,  some  of  them  illustrated  by  men  ot  original  mark, 
like  Rackham,  who  is  a  whole  court  of  fairies,  and  much  else  besides, 
in  the  realms  of  precious  whimsies;  and  these  fine  books,  often  too 
good  for  nurseries  and  schoolrooms,  though  inspired  usually  for 
Christmas,  have  kept  our  country  in  the  first  rank  of  the  world's 
publishing  seasons.  We  have  an  aristocracy  in  book  illustration  and 
decoration.  But  have  we  also  a  commonwealth .?  Brangwyn  com- 
plains, not  without  reason,  that  the  average  level  ot  workmanship  is  not 
only  too  low  for  a  great  nation,  but  also  that  it  is  often  pinched, 
starved,  poor  and  mean,  and  thus  inferior  to  that  which  ruled  in 
England  between  the  time  of  Hearne,  Girtin,  Turner,  Stothard,  Nash, 
Wilkie,  Rowlandson,  Bunbury,  Gillray,  and  those  other  brave  days 
which  connect  Cotman  and  Cox  and  Gilbert  (who  in  several  ways 
was  a  forerunner  of  Brangwyn)  with  Leech,  Doyle,  Tenniel,  Calde- 
cott,  Charles  Keene,  David  Roberts,  Prout,  Small,  Harding,  Pinwell, 
Houghton,  Fred  Walker,  Millais,  Rossetti,  Burne-Jones,  Sandys, 
Hughes,  Ford  Madox  Brown,  and  many  others. 

In  the  days  when  steel  engravings  and  woodcuts  and  lithographs  were 
as  varied  as  they  were  often  valuable,  book  production,  as  a  rule,  had 
about  it  a  less  flurried  and  industrial  air;  the  evil  now  known  as 
intensive  culture  appeared  only  from  time  to  time,  mercifully  free 
from  mechanical  half-tone  blocks,  and  also  from  that  pestilential 
nuisance  the  camera  fiend,  who  seems  often  to  be  neither  brute  nor 
human,  but  a  ghoul.      Fine  books  and  periodicals  have  a  fight  uphill. 

2'3 


During  five-and-twenty  years,  indeed,  and  always  more  and  more, 
bookstalls  and  bookshops  have  been  littered  with  fleeting  productions, 
in  which  good  things  have  often  been  overwhelmed  by  trash  ;  and  it 
has  become  increasingly  a  risk  to  pay  what  is  called  a  living  wage  for 
good  illustrations  by  men  rising  into  fame.  American  publishers 
have  been  more  fortunate.  Much  more  often  than  our  own,  they 
have  been  able  to  pay  well  and  at  once  for  capital  work,  thanks  partly 
to  an  eager  public  more  than  twice  as  large  as  our  own,  but  partly 
also  to  the  much  higher  revenue  that  American  publishers  gather 
from  advertisers. 

On  three  occasions — April  1 904,  October  1905,  and  October  1906 — 
Brangwyn  has  designed  a  cover  for  Scribner  s  Magazine,  and  as  tar 
back  as  1893  he  did  a  windy  series  of  marine  drawings  for  the  same 
excellent  periodical.  It  appeared  in  July  of  that  year  to  illustrate  a 
good  article  by  W.  Clark  Russell  on  "The  Life  of  the  Merchant 
Sailor."  There  are  twelve  drawings,  and  only  two  are  reproduced  in 
half-tone.  One  of  these,  from  a  swift  pencil  sketch,  shows  in  per- 
spective a  forecastle,  with  two  sailors  in  their  rough  bunks,  another 
taking  off  his  sea-boots  before  he  turns  in,  while  a  tall  negro,  standing 
erect,  lights  his  pipe  and  makes  the  too  human  air  friendly  with 
twist  tobacco.  The  other  half-tone  is  a  pencil  sketch  touched  here 
and  there  with  a  wash.  It  represents  a  burial  at  sea,  and  is  full 
of  weight,  character,  and  observation.  The  remaining  illustrations 
are  excellent  woodcuts. 

"Two  Men  at  the  Wheel,"  one  a  negro,  is  a  capital  piece  of  work, 
unforced  in  its  keen  realism,  and  with  just  the  right  bluff  vigour  for 
a  dirty  day.  "Dinner  in  the  forecastle,"  with  light  pouring  down 
through  a  small  vent-hole  on  six  merchant  sailors,  whose  uniform  has 
a  serviceable  negligence  as  the  only  sign  of  discipline  in  dress,  is 
equally  sincere  and  apt.  Its  diffused  light  is  well  managed,  and  a 
story  could  be  written  about  each  sailor,  so  clearly  are  these  six  men 
made  known  by  their  faces  and  postures.  Other  woodcuts  reveal 
how  a  deck  is  washed  at  dawn,  how  a  topsail  is  stowed  by  five  salts, 
how  the  lookout  is  kept  in  thick  weather,  how  rescuers  get  into  the 
quarter  boat  after  a  man  has  fallen  overboard,  how  jibs  are  stowed 
when  a  ship  puts  her  nose  into  a  swelling  sea,  and  also  how  the  lead 
is  heaved.  These  drawings  are  signed  1893,  the  year  in  which 
Brangwyn  exhibited  "Blake  at  Santa  Cruz"  (Glasgow  Institute), 
"Shade"  (Society  of  Scottish  Artists),  the  "Adoration  of  the  Magi" 
(New  Gallery),  "Dolce  Far  Niente"  (Institute  of  Oil  Painters),  "The 

214 


Buccaneers"(Grafton  Gallery), and  two  pictures  at  the  Royal  Academy, 
"Turkish  Fishermen's  Huts"  and  "A  Slave  Market,"  now  at  South- 
port  in  the  puhlic  gallery. 

Nine  years  later,  in  September,  1902,  Brangwyn  returned  again  to  the 
sea  tor  Scribners  Maga-zine,  and  made  five  first-rate  drawings  to 
illustrate  a  stirring  yarn  by  James  B.  Connolly,  A  Fisherman  of 
Costla.  These  are  wash-drawings  full  of  realness  and  power ;  and 
the  half-tone  blocks  are  closer  and  firmer  and  weightier  than  those 
that  appear  in  an  English  magazine  whose  circulation  is  equally 
large.  No  drawing  has  its  texture  or  its  body  at  all  unloosened  by 
the  meshed  grain;  every  touch  tells  as  in  an  original  design ;  and  even 
spray,  flicked  cleverly  with  a  brush,  keeps  its  own  right  place  and 
value  in  one  reproduction,  where  two  very  typical  fishermen  and  a 
boy  pole  their  boat  off  to  the  end  of  a  quay. 

Let  us  compare  these  American  illustrations,  some  process  blocks  and 
some  real  woodcuts,  with  the  good  seafaring  work  that  Brangwyn 
has  done  for  English  books.  In  1891,  for  example,  he  illustrated 
W.  Clark  Russell's  Admiral  CoUing'wood — a  theme  sufficiently 
national  and  permanent  to  forbid  all  trite  and  tame  compromise 
among  those  who  had  to  do  it  justice.  Our  London  publisher  chose 
the  right  artist,  but  he  did  not  choose  the  right  means  of  reproduc- 
tion, preferring  weak  process  blocks  to  full-bodied  woodcuts  or  rich 
photogravures.  As  CoUingwood  is  the  most  lovable  true  hero  in 
our  naval  history,  a  marine  Sir  Galahad  always  on  duty  at  sea,  who 
is  to  explain  this  prosy,  commonplace  thrift  and  fear .?  We  cannot 
suppose  that  the  British  people,  twenty-seven  years  ago,  were  land- 
lubbers who  had  no  wish  to  pass  from  seaside  trips  to  companionship 
with  CoUingwood,  whose  biography  had  received  hitherto  not  enough 
research  and  colour. 
Clark  Russell  and  Brangwyn  did 
their  work  well,  producing  a  book 
for  old  boys  of  seventy  and  more, 
and  old  men  of  seventeen  and 
younger.  In  one  drawing,  well 
composed,  Brangwyn  shows  how 
CoUingwood  in  the  "  Excellent," 
helped  Nelson  off  St.  Vincent. 
Sails  are  blurred  by  battle  smoke, 
and  in  the  foreground  some  men 
find     refuge    on    a    broken     mast 

215 


afloat.  Collingwood  and  his  first  lieutenant,  Clavell,  asleep  on 
a  gun- breech,  worn  out  after  blockading,  is  the  subject  of 
another  good  impression,  which  contains  also  a  capital  group 
of  five  tars  around  the  next  gun.  Not  even  a  penny-wise  block 
can  spoil  this  revival  of  the  younger  days  at  sea,  when  cannon 
were  but  popguns  compared  with  our  battleships'  most  recent 
weapons.  It  is  also  refreshing  to  see  how  the  "  Royal  Sovereign  " 
went  into  action  at  Trafalgar,  "glorious  old  Collingwood  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  ahead  of  his  second  astern,"  and  opening  the  battle  with  his 
undying  attack  on  the  magnificent  black  "  Santa  Anna."  As  soon  as 
he  reached  this  great  ship,  he  cut  the  tacks  and  sheets  and  halliards  of 
his  own  studding-sails,  letting  them  fall  into  the  water ;  and  when 
his  mainyard  caught  his  opponent  by  the  missen-vangs,  he  let  off  into 
her  stern  a  double-shotted  broadside,  and  soon  got  rid  of  one  foe 
among  the  thirty-three  that  our  fleet  attacked.  Perhaps  Brangwyn's 
drawing  has  too  much  sea  in  the  foreground  and  not  enough  space 
above  the  ships'  decks ;  but  in  other  matters,  at  any  rate,  it  is  a  top- 
sawyer,  though  weakly  reproduced. 

Collingwood  had  but  little  chance  of  enjoying  home  life  with  his 
dear  family  at  Morpeth,  but  once  during  a  holiday  there  a  brother 
Admiral  caught  him  in  the  act  of  digging  a  garden  trench,  with  old 
Scott,  his  gardener.  Here  is  the  subject  of  another  drawing,  which 
shows  Brangwyn  aside  from  his  usual  moods.  The  episode  is  made 
real  with  sympathy  and  high  spirits.  Old  Scott  is  an  excellent 
veteran,  quite  clever  enough  to  feel  wisely  superannuated  while  his 
master  does  most  of  the  work,  in  order  to  be  sure  that  he  is  at  last 
on  land  and  at  home.  We  get  a  back  view  of  Collingwood,  and 
note  how  his  broad  shoulders  have  been  rounded  by  a  habit  of  stoop- 
ing on  board  ship  in  low  cabins  and  between  decks. 
More  interesting  still,  as  work  apart  from  Brangwyn's  usual  appeals, 
is  a  piece  of  real  fireside  genre,  illustrating  a  passage  from  a  letter 
written  by  Collingwood  in  1801  to  Mrs.  Mowbray:  "How  surprised 
you  would  have  been  to  have  popped  in  at  the  Fountain  Inn 
[Plymouth]  and  seen  Lord  Nelson,  my  wife  and  myself  sitting  by 
the  fireside  cosing,  and  little  Sarah  teaching  Phillis,  her  dog,  to 
dance."  Just  a  few  days  before — on  June  13,  1801 — Nelson  had 
parted  from  his  wife  for  ever,  so  his  presence  at  Collingwood's  happi- 
ness must  have  been  a  painful  experience  to  him.  The  drawing  is 
clearly  seen,  well  composed,  and  sympathetic.  Nelson  is  seated  with 
his  back  to  us,  while  Collingwood  talks  quietly,  his  face  wearing 

216 


that  half-anxious  look,  that  settled  upon  sailors  during  the  long  and 
stern  blockade. 

And  now  we  pass  on  to  The  Wreck  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  written 
by  the  adept  Robert  Leighton  and  published  in  1894.  It  is  the 
story  of  a  North  Sea  fisher-boy,  and  Brangwyn  made  for  it  eight 
sketches,  which  were  not  so  well  reproduced  as  they  ought  to  have 
been.  Here  is  another  entertaining  bit  of  genre,  showing  how  Peter 
Durrant  spelt  out  a  handbill  in  a  printer's  pleasant  old  shop ;  and 
there's  a  good  fight  on  board  a  plague-ship.  It  sets  me  thinking 
of  Alan  Breck's  fight  in  the  Round  House,  on  board  the  brig 
"Covenant,"  in  Stevenson's  Kidnapped,  which  did  not  reach  lads  as 
easily  as  Robert  Leighton's  tales. 

Two  years  later,  in  1896,  Tales  of  Our  Coast  appeared,  with  a 
dozen  illustrations  by  Brangwyn.  They  were  written  by  Q.,  W.  Clark 
Russell,  Harold  Frederic,  S.  R.  Crockett,  and  Gilbert  Parker.  Once 
more  the  blocks  are  not  good  enough  to  be  fair  to  a  big  artist,  whose 
fame  on  the  Continent  was  increasing  fast,  and  who  was  then  at 
work  on  his  young  masterful  picture  "The  Scoffers."  What  hope 
can  there  be  for  o-enius  in  book  decoration  when  second-rate  blocks 
are  offered  as  a  sop  to  penurious  enterprise.?  Brangwyn  did  well  to 
turn  from  such  thankless  toil  to  the  freer  scope  that  he  found  in 
design  applied  to  household  things,  like  carpets  and  furniture  and 
stained  glass. 

Of  his  drawings  for  Tales  of  Our  Coast,  four  or  five  should  be 
mentioned.  In  Russell's  yarn,  "That  There  Mason,"  there  are  two: 
"7o«  killed  him!"  and  "Old  Jim  Mason's  the  worst-tempered  Man 
on  our  Coast."  He  looks  it  too,  a  human  cauldron  always  ready  to 
boil  over,  and  Brangwyn  shows  in  Mason  that  spinal  weakness  of 
character  which  goes  frequently  with  ungoverned  temper,  as  with 
other  uncontrolled  emotion.  Q.'s  thrilling  story,  "The  Roll  Call  of 
the  Reef,"  has  a  tragedy  on  a  seashore,  and  I  should  like  to  come 
upon  the  original  drawing.  Crockett  writes  about  "Smugglers  of 
the  Clone,"  and  1  find  in  a  Brangwyn  sketch — "Black  Taggart  was 
in  with  his  Lugger" — an  episode  from  shipping  affairs  that  foretells 
a  very  good  thing  in  Brangwyn's  etched  work,  unloading  wine  at 
Venice  by  night.  But  the  main  point  of  all  is  the  varied  observa- 
tion. Several  drawings  do  not  seem  to  come  from  Brangwyn,  so 
closely  do  they  belong  to  the  tales.  "Saw  his  head  spiked  over 
South  Gate,"  in  Harold  Frederic's  "The  Path  of  Murtogh,"  is  one 
example.  Thackeray  says  that  no  one  can  have  any  guess  what 
2   F  217 


ideas  are  in  his  mind  until  he  begins  to  write;  and  certainly  Brang- 
wyn  does  not  know  how  much  he  has  gathered  from  his  travels  and 
his  reading  until  he  sits  down  to  illustrate  a  book.  What  is  it  that 
Shakespeare  tells  us  about  Art  and  Nature  ? — 

" — Nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so,  over  that  art 
Which  you  say  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock ; 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race  :  this  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature, — change  it  rather ;  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature.  .  .   ."* 

So  it  is  always,  though  fashions  in  all  things  come  and  go. 
In  1 899,  Brangwyn  went  again  to  the  sea  and  illustrated  A  Spliced 
Yarn  for  George  Cupples,  doing  five  drawings  and  a  title-page. 
Across  the  head  of  this  title-page  he  put  in  decorative  outline  some 
warships  of  Edward  the  Third's  reign,  or  thereabouts;  and  his 
drawings  are  brisk  and  welcome,  though  three  add  nothing  fresh  to 
his  graphic  variety.  They  repeat  a  familiar  good  seamanship  in  art, 
like  captains  who  meet  on  their  voyages  with  no  event  which  is  un- 
expected. We  see  how  H.M.S.  "Brutus"  fought  Le  Caton,  and 
also  how  an  old  frigate  tumbles  home  in  the  fangs  of  bad  weather; 
while  the  third  sketch  carries  the  canvas  of  a  fine  merchantman  who 
gathers  knots  from  a  stiff  wind,  while  clouds  pile  themselves  into 
threats.  "In  the  Hooghly,"  boarded  by  native  traders,  is  a  new  vein 
in  Brangwyn  illustrations;  and  a  busy  impression  called  "The  Panama 
steamer  came  in,"  is  a  new  tributary  also  into  Brangwyn's  main 
stream.  But  the  reproductions  are  only  better  than  nothing.  From 
what  they  do  with  a  fudging  thrift,  by  which  a  few  pence  are  saved 
on  each  block,  one  has  to  guess  what  a  true  artist  did  with  appre- 
hension of  two  sorts,  conceiving  and  expressing  right  things,  while 
he  anticipated  ill-treatment  from  block-makers  and  printers.  What  a 
pity  it  is  that  his  earlier  book  work  was  never  reproduced  in  England 
with  such  royal  care  as  the  brothers  Dalziel  in  their  woodcuts  gave 
to  Millais,  Leighton,  Pinwell,  Ford  Madox  Brown,  and  many  others! 

II 

We  pass  on  to  four  or  five  series  of  later  and  riper  designs.  In  19 10 
I  spoke  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  "The  Last  Fight  of  the  'Revenge,'" 

*   Winters  Tale,  Act  IV,  Sc.  3;  Polixenes  to  Perdita. 
218 


which  Brangwyn  illustrated  in  i  908,  choosing  six  subjects  for  colour- 
prints  and  making  many  headpieces  and  tailpieces.     The  finest  colour- 
print   is   taken   from  an  overmantel  at  Lloyd's,  and  represents,  with 
majesty  and  splendid  pomp,  how  Queen  Elizabeth  went  aboard  the 
towering  Golden  Hind.      Brangwyn  has  done  nothing  more  stately 
in  historical  seamanship,  and  I   am  glad  to  know  that  lads  of  the 
U.S.A.  see   this   noble   decoration  in  Scribner's  The  Boys  Hakluyt* 
In    191 1    he  enriched  and  completed  a   very  charming   edition   ot 
Southey's  Life  of  Nelson,  for  which  John  Masefield  wrote  an  excel- 
lent preface.     Several  colour-plates,  all  from  good  blocks  and  well- 
printed,  we  have  seen  already,  in  Scribner  s  Magazine,  August,  1903 
(p.  204)  ;   but  the  others  are  less  familiar  to  students  of  Brangwyn's 
versatility.     "Building  a  Frigate,"  for  example,  is  most  romantically 
conceived,  and  as  mellow  in  colour  and  tone  as  one  of  those  rich 
baritone  singers  who  rise  all  at  once  into  a  climax  of  pure  tenor.     An 
officer  and  his  friends,  women  and  men  gaily  dressed,  visit  the  frigate, 
and  their  presence  as  plots  of  colour  is  put  in  with  just  the  right 
allusive  touches  from  a  full  brush.      "An  Italian  Water  Festival"  is 
amusing  as  an  extemporised  pageant,  and  also  because  of  its  contrast 
with   "After  Trafalgar,"   where    imaginative   fervour   gathers   with 
coming  dusk  and  storm  around  crippled  battleships,  one  of  which  has 
a  fatefulness  accordant  with  Nelson's  death  in  victory. 
Brangwyn's  headpieces  and  tailpieces,  now  so  many  and  so  various, 
cannot   be  interpreted  one   by  one.     Their  method  has  a  frequent 
interest  of  its  own,  and  strength  of  its  own,  with  a  charm  not  felt  by 
everybody.      If  you  do  not  like  it,  you  must  leave  it  alone,  but  not, 
I  hope,  before  you  have  tried  to  put  yourself  into  friendliness  with 
its  decorative  breadth,  its  robust  and  subtle  variety.     These  qualities 
go  hand  in  hand  with  humour,  and  wit,  and  romance,  enlisting  as 
aids  a  great  many  motifs  that  other  designers  are  overapt  to  pass  by. 
Note  how  varied  and  ornamental  is  the  use  he  makes  ot  ships  and  ot 
bridges,  for  example ;  and  as  for  the  designs  composed  for  endpapers, 
they  are  always  original  and  apposite.     On  one,  drawn  with  a  brush 
almost  as  fresh  and  swift  as  an  incoming  tide,  a  fleet  ot  old  timber 
battleships  goes  sailing  into  action,  and  so  tuU  ot  promise  that   it 
hurries  us  into  the  pages  that  it  recommends.      As  for  Brangwyn's 
initial  letters,  are  they  not  often  rapid  sketches  rather  than  designs 
within  that  formal  art  which  good  printing  has  delivered  down  to 
us  from  Caxton's  day  .? 

*  See  also  Frank  Brangwyn  and  His  Work.     Kegan  Paul  and  Co. 

219 


In  19 1 3  Messrs.  Sampson  Low  and  Co.  prepared  with  thought  and 
pride  a  capital  edition  of  Kinglake's  Eothen,  with  a  prefatory  note  by 
S.  L.  Bensusan  and  designs  by  Frank   Brangwyn.     This  book,  with 
its  traces  of  travel  brought  home  from  the  East,  has  a  chatty,  refresh- 
ing naturalness  that  keeps  young  and  true,  despite  the  gradual  alloy 
of  Western  manners  and  methods  that  the  East  receives,  as  a  copyist 
sometimes,  and  sometimes  under  compulsion.      Brangwyn,  like  King- 
lake,  was  born  with  gifts  swift  to  apprehend  with  sympathy  all  that 
is  venerable   and   highbred   and   glowing   among   Eastern    customs, 
manners,  and  peoples,  and  thus  the  wise  temper  of  his  Oriental  work 
should   be   of  use   to   our   British   patriotism,  which,  as  a  rule,  has 
dangers  all  its  own.      If  we  compare  our  patriotism  with  that  of  the 
French,  for  example,  we  see  at  once  that  French  patriotism  has  in  it 
the  stuff  of  a  burnt  sacrifice,  a  passion  so  intimately  filial  that  France 
lives  in  French  minds  as  mothers  live  in  the  hearts  of  little  children, 
while  our  own  patriotism,  as  a  rule,  is  a  multiple  and  a  vagrant 
achievement  wherein  pride  of  race,  inherited  from  age  to  age  with  a 
far-scattered  Empire,  is  the  main  factor.      So  we  are  apt  to  forget  as 
a  nation  that  Empires  invariably  have  to  hold  at  bay  two  encroaching 
foes;  either    Imperial   pride   may   become   excessive   enough,   as   in 
ancient   Rome,   to   disintegrate  most   national   feelings,   or   national 
feelings  may  become  too  subdivided  and  too  zealot-ridden  for  Imperial 
unity  to  be  possible,  as  in  present-day  Russia.      India  also  has  imported 
epidemical  ideas  from  Western  socialism  and  democracy,  and  unless 
British  minds  undergo  a  thorough  orientation,  grave  perils  will  come 
upon  us  unawares  and  find  us  unprepared.      To  publish  temperate  and 
sympathetic  books  on  the  East,  with  illustrations  by  men  who  under- 
stand the  East,  is  thus  very  useful  and  necessary. 
Macaulay  complained  that  books  on  India  attracted  little  notice,  and 
Disraeli's  thorough  understanding  of  the  East  was  never  appreciated 
at   its   worth   by    our   insular  aloofness   and  over-confidence.      One 
reason  is  apposite  here,  and  it  happens  to  be  a  reason  that  statesmen 
have  passed  over  in  silence.      Most  minds  learn  more  from  drawings 
and  pictures  than  from  printed  words,  and  our  pictorial  arts,  unlike 
the   French,  have  been  scrappy  and  patchy,  and  also  infrequent  as 
explorers  of  Easternism.      Ofi^  and  on  we  have  had  a  true  and  a  fine 
Orientalist,  like  J.  F.  Lewis  (1805—76),  Holman  Hunt,  and  Brangwyn; 
but  across  the  Channel,  for  about  a  century,  there  has  been  a  flourishing 
school  of  Orientalists,  whose  abundant  work  has  done  a  great  deal 
to  unite  the  French  people  to  the  daily  presence  of  Eastern  affairs. 

220 


WOODCUT    "THK  FAODUS." 


It  was  this  education  in  the  aspects  of  Eastern  Hfe  and  character 
that  enabled  Frenchmen  to  Hke  at  once  the  splendid  and  intrepid 
orientation  through  which  Brangwyn's  art  passed  after  visits  to  the 
Near  East ;  while  at  home  his  departure  from  gray  sea-pieces  and 
his  arrival  at  real  Eastern  colour  and  life  were  treated,  far  more  otten 
than  not,  as  outrages  on  insular  domesticity  and  gentleness — on  what 
may  be  called  the  Darby  and  Joan  of  a-sthetic  orthodoxy.  His 
Easternism  was  regarded  as  a  dissenter,  a  new  courage  and  candour, 
to  be  feared  and  disliked,  though  the  British  Empire  in  Asia  had  a 
population  of  three  hundred  millions,  all  Orientalists,  and  therefore 
persons  to  be  understood  in  the  British  Isles. 

Kinglake  and  Brangwyn,  then,  go  happily  together,  and  usefully 
also.  They  take  us  far  off  from  our  gray  and  self-absorbed  insularity 
and  then  bring  us  home  with  a  sunrise  in  our  minds — an  East  full 
of  light  and  magic.  There  is  nothing  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable. 
The  orange  cover,  upon  which  we  see  through  an  Eastern  arch  a 
city  of  promise,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  beaten  track  of  bindings; 
and  the  half-title  page  has  on  it  a  white  mosque  and  a  quiet  crowd, 
which  takes  its  ease  in  an  avenue  of  cypresses,  dark  trees  and  very 
tall.  The  plates  are  in  colour,  some  little  known  and  some  familiar, 
like  the  Turkish  fishermen  with  their  trellised  huts  from  the  Prague 
Gallery,  or  the  Orange  Market  at  Jaffa,  which  I  was  lucky  enough 
to  reproduce  in  The  Spirit  of  our  Age.  "Arabs  on  the  Shore,"  from 
F.J.  Fry's  collection,  and  painted  in  1897,  is  among  the  wittiest 
and  happiest  of  Brangwyn's  penetrations  into  character  and  manners. 
It  reveals  much  that  Western  pride — or  is  it  short-sighted  careless- 
ness ? — cannot,  or  does  not,  perceive.  These  tall  Arabs  are  stately 
figures  and  content  with  their  lot.  Though  commoners,  men  of 
the  people  and  poor,  they  have  a  well-bred  look  and  carry  themselves 
with  an  easy  distinction.  Some  are  seated,  while  others  stand  erect, 
and  friendly  badinage  passes  between  them,  with  a  reserve  which  has 
a  long  ancestry,  and  they  have  from  nature  a  peculiar  grace  some- 
what akin  to  that  of  lions  and  tigers. 

Here  is  a  higher  type  of  physical  man  and  manner  than  that  which 
is  bred  and  stereotyped  by  Western  industrialism;  and  it  recalls  to 
mind  the  fact,  now  forgotten  perhaps,  that  many  of  the  Indian 
troops  at  Queen  Victoria's  Diamond  Jubilee  were  mistaken  by  most 
Londoners  for  Indian  princes,  so  regal  was  their  bearing  on  horse- 
hack,  and  so  high-bred  their  direct,  proud  faces.  Is  it  not  time  that 
Europe  should  breed  among  her  common  folk  both  better  looks  and 

22  I 


thoroughbred  manners  ?  Rough  Shetland  ponies  are  all  very  well, 
but  racehorses  and  shire  horses  are  far  and  away  preferable.  Every 
sort  of  good  caste  Eastern  is  understood  by  Brangwyn,  and  I  wish 
he  could  be  busy  for  a  year  and  more  in  India.  A  school-book  on 
India,  illustrated  by  him  and  written  by  Sir  J.  D.  Rees,  would  be 
a  liberal  education  in  the  conservative  progress  that  our  Empire  can 
never  do  without. 

Meanwhile  let  us  read  or  re-read  this  good  edition  of  Edthen,  and 
let  us  hope  that  more  pictures  will  appear  soon  in  a  reprint.  Those 
which  are  published — "  Eastern  Music,"  for  example,  and  "  Moon- 
light in  a  Turkish  Cemetery,"  "A  Damascus  Garden,"  "  At  the 
City  Gates,"  and  "  Merchants  and  their  Camels,"  with  a  gleaming 
distance  of  white  architecture  and  a  foreground  aglow  with  amber 
and  other  mellow  rich  notes  of  colour — are  entertainingly  character- 
istic, but  overmuch  of  Brangwyn's  most  impressive  Eastern  sympathy 
has  been  omitted. 

More  than  once  he  has  proved  his  sympathy  for  "Omar  Khaiyam," 
and  we  should  note  above  all  the  plates  that  he  added  in  19 1 3  to 
FitzGerald's  version.  This  edition  was  published  by  Foulis  in  the 
Rose  Garden  Series,  and  Foulis  has  a  liking  for  good  workmanship 
whether  old  or  new.  He  makes  few  mistakes;  but  I  believe  he 
went  too  far,  when  he  put  this  edition  of  "Omar"  into  a  lilac  cover 
and  between  lilac  forepaper  and  endpaper,  lilac  being  one  of  those 
colours  which,  like  mauve  and  vermilion,  should  be  used  with  chary 
thrift  as  rare  notes  in  decorative  harmonies.  Dame  Nature  tones 
lilac  with  her  gray  brilliance  and  relieves  it  with  tender  green  leaves, 
while  in  machine-made  paper  and  cloth,  lilac  is  as  cold  as  death  and 
almost  as  dissonant  as  emerald  green.  When  put  cheek  by  jowl 
with  enough  gold  or  enough  black,  as  in  illuminated  work,  lilac,  like 
emerald  green,  sings  pleasantly  in  chorus. 

There  are  eight  illuminated  pages  in  this  edition  of  "Omar  Khai- 
yam," beautifully  printed,  delicate  and  charming ;  and  eight  illustra- 
tions in  colour  by  Brangwyn,  reproduced  very  small,  yet  keeping  his 
abundant  scale  and  the  magic  of  his  colour,  complete  a  book  that 
needs  for  its  guardian  a  strong  and  a  bold  binding.  It  is  with  ex- 
quisite little  books  as  with  jewels,  which  set  us  thinking  of  safes  and 
locks  and  keys.  Yet  there's  a  belief  in  England  that  delicate  books 
ought  to  have  delicate  bindings,  though  a  delicate  binding  is  dirtied 
in  a  few  months  by  our  dusty  and  sooty  towns.  This  false  belief 
takes  its  rise  from  another — that  harmonies  of  affinity  are  better  than 

222 


harmonies  of  contrast.  They  arc  more  feminine,  of  course,  but  in 
men's  work  they  are  so  effeminate  that  no  great  colourist  has  ever 
failed  to  employ  rich  neutral  tones  as  a  keyboard  for  triumphing 
harmonies  of  contrast.  How  to  reconcile  discords  is  among  the 
essential  victories  that  Brangwyn  gains,  like  every  other  original 
colourist. 

Belgium,  a  book  published  in  191 6,  and  The  Poems  of  Ver/iaeren, 
with  cuts  by  Brangwyn,  belong  to  woodcuts  and  brush  drawings, 
and  will  be  considered  in  the  next  chapter. 


223 


CHAPTER    XVI       BRANGWYN    WOODCUTS    AND 
BRUSH    DRAWINGS 


n  good  prints  they  are  alike,  and 
some  woodcuts  may  be  mistaken 
tor  good  process  reproductions 
trom  brush  drawings;  but  many 
a  one  is  cut  straight  upon  wood, 
without  a  drawing  to  give  help,  only  a  few  guiding  lines  being  used 
to  space  out  and  to  point  a  premeditated  design. 

Brush  drawings  make  their  appeal  in  this  book  from  a  good  many 
prints,  headpieces  andj  tailpieces,  bookplates  also,  and  a  civic  revolt, 
swift  and  thrilling,  like  Delacroix's  "La  Barricade,"  but  not  so 
terrible  as  Meissonier's  "La  Barricade,"  dated  i  848,  with  its  desolated 
street  littered  with  dead  bodies  not  yet  cold  and  rigid.  Note  also 
Brangwyn's  black  and  white  impression  of  a  boxing  match,  a  negro 
among  sporting  prints,  which,  though  it  comes  not  from  an  artist 
who,  like  Maurice  Maeterlinck,  is  elusive  and  bruising  with  gloved 
fists,  shows  decoratively  what  movement  and  muscle  and  character 
are  brusquely  shadowed  by  one  method  of  Brangwyn  brush  drawings. 
It  is  a  method  apart  from  that  which  you  will  find  in  many  pen  and 
brush  drawings  contributed  to  A  Book  of  Bridges*  where  line  and 
wash  are  equally  graphic  and  original.  Examples:  Bridge  of  Boats 
at  Cologne,  a  vast  Gable  Bridge  at  Gerona  in  Spain,  Bridge  at 
Waltham  Abbev  attributed  to  Harold ;  Smyrna :  Roman  Bridge  and 
Aqueduct,  Ruins  of  a  Roman  Bridge  at  Brives-Charensac,  France, 
Bridge  at  Zaragoza,  partly  Roman,  Ponte  Rotto,  Rome,  anciently 
Pons  Palatinus  or  Senatorius ;  Ponte  Maggiore  over  a  Ravine  of  the 
Tronto  at  Ascoli-Piceno,  Primitive  Timber  Bridge  in  Bhutan,  India, 
and — passing  over  other  brisk  and  expressive  sketches — a  noble 
bridge  across  the  Main  at  Wiirzburg  in  Bavaria,  built  in  1474,  and 
adorned  with  statues  of  saints  in  1607.  By  contrasting  these  illus- 
trations with  Brangwyn's  methods  in  his  two  boxing  matches,  one 
in  two  colours,  and  one  mainly  in  black,  we  get  rapidly  to  close 
quarters  with  his  versatile  and  often  figurative  handling  of  monotint 
wash,  and  pen  lines  and  brush  contours. 

Bookplates  have  added  other  notes  to  his  graphic  work  with  both  line 
and   brush.      Some   are  etched   Ex  Libris  :    like  the   men  carrying 

*  By  Frank  Brangwyn  and  Walter  Shaw  Sparrow.     John  Lane,  1915. 
224 


'AN    (ji.i)    Mki'.i.r    IN    AN  I  \\  i;i-;i'.        drawing 

FOR    "A     HOOK     OF     liKlAnUM,"    BY    FRANK 
liUANC.WVN  .1  HUC.H  STOKF.S.     < A\^iiu  J'a/,/ S^  C,>.) 


books  (Nos.  8 1  and  82),  or  the  boy  crowned  with  a  garland,  who 
plays  on  cymbals  above  an  Italian  garden  (No.  84)  ;  or,  again,  the 
plate  inscribed  "Ex  Libris,  Frank  Newbolt "  (No.  86).  Here  a 
full-rigged  Tudor  ship  makes  against  a  dark  sky  a  bold  and  brave 
ornament.  A  bit  ot  heraldry,  a  shield,  is  put  in  the  right-hand 
corner  of  this  bookplate;  while  at  the  top  a  scroll  bears  the  inscrip- 
tion. Then  there  are  some  bookplates  in  colour;  and  as  for  those  in 
brush  drawing,  Brangwyn  has  proved  here,-  several  times,  though 
seldom  elsewhere,  and  never  as  an  etcher,  that  he  loves  birds  and  their 
value  in  ornament,  decoration,  and  symbolism.  Never  does  he  forget, 
moreover,  that  changes  of  a  ruling  sort  among  social  customs  and 
manners  ought  always  to  leave  marks  of  their  activities  on  book- 
plates. At  a  time  when  cobwebs  of  the  study  no  longer  cling  around 
most  ripe  scholarship,  and  when  a  duke,  knowing  that  our  times  are 
non-aristocratic,  is  ready  to  practise  the  chivalry  of  strap-hanging  on 
a  tube  railway,  neither  heraldic  pride  nor  Latin  motto-seeking 
belongs  as  a  typical  right  and  grace  to  many  current  hobbies  and 
routines.  Yet  many  a  commonplace  democrat,  with  not  a  word  of 
Latin  to  trip  into  speech,  picks  up  from  a  dictionary  of  classic  maxims 
a  Latin  tag  with  which  to  part  his  bookplate  from  his  family  and 
friends.  Armorial  achievements  among  professed  socialists  and  true 
democrats  need  no  pedantry  of  this  old  sort,  unless  it  be  put  into 
dummy  books  on  the  top  shelves  of  lofty  bookcases,  where  affecta- 
tions may  well  be  kept  with  printed  languages  that  we  cannot  read. 
Brangwyn  wants  to  do  bookplates  for  those  men  alone  who  are  not 
ashamed  to  show  in  a  design  what  they  are  as  workers  and  readers 
and  citizens.  Good  English,  from  Chaucer's  day  to  our  own,  should 
have  been  deemed  classical  enough  to  be  worn  as  a  motto  on  any 
coat-of-arms  or  below  any  family  crest.  Though  Montaigne 
delighted  to  hobnob  with  ancient  master  minds,  concealing  his  quota- 
tions and  his  authors,  so  that  his  critics  might  give  a  stab  to  Plutarch 
or  a  fillip  on  the  nose  to  Seneca,  yet,  as  soon  as  he  wished  to  find  a 
maxim  tor  his  own  workaday  motto,  he  thought  as  a  witty  French- 
man, choosing  the  simple  and  ironic  words  :  "  Que  Sais-Je  ?  What 
do  I  know  ?  "  This  alert  modesty  is  a  lesson  to  our  fussy,  flurried 
generation ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  at  all  that  bookplates,  as 
Brangwyn  says,  should  be  right  as  emblems  as  well  as  English,  and 
modest  in  their  mottoes. 

Their  symbolism  can  be  national  sometimes  and  sometimes  private 

and  personal,  to  denote  what  a  man  likes  as  a  hobby,  or  what  he  is 

2   G  225 


during  the  day's  work,  or  what  his  family  likes  best  to  remember. 
Sailors  have  abundant  motifs  from  which  to  make  a  choice,  for 
example,  so  have  soldiers,  lawyers,  barristers,  judges,  architects,  men 
of  letters,  athletes  and  sportsmen,  and  all  other  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men  ;  so  that  bookplates  could  and  should  express,  with  fitting 
emblematic  designs  and  with  original  mottoes  in  English,  what  each 
generation  of  our  countryfolk  does  and  will  do  as  a  reader,  and  a 
worker,  and  a  pleasure-seeker.  Social  history  in  brief,  then,  not 
heraldic  honour  or  glory,  whether  real  or  feigned,  is  the  main  thing 
that  we  should  wish  to  see  among  the  bookplates  designed  by  artists. 
Brangwyn  has  been  far  too  busy  to  make  this  art  anything  more  than 
a  halt-holiday  on  various  occasions,  as  Newman,  I  believe,  described 
to  a  friend  his  heart-abiding  "  Verses  on  Various  Occasions  ";  but  a 
few  designs  he  adds  year  by  year  to  his  bookplates,  while  some  other 
artists  add — shall  I  call  them  "  duds  "  ? — to  theirs. 
And  now  let  us  turn  to  the  essence  of  his  work  in  brush  drawing 
and  wood  engraving.      It  is  found  among  four  things  : 

1.  The  tinted  woodcuts  published  by  the  Fine  Art  Society,  London, 
under  the  title  :  "  At  the  Front  and  at  the  Base."  These  I  have 
reviewed  in  a  footnote  on  pages  189-90,  in  order  to  unite  them  to 
Brangwyn's  War  Posters. 

2.  In  significant  and  impressive  work  like  "A  Fair  Wind,"  or  like 
"The  Exodus,  Belgium,  19 14,"  a  subject  which  has  inspired 
Brangwvn  in  several  War  Posters  printed  from  stones. 

3.  In  a  book  on  the  Poems  of  Verhaeren,  to  be  published  in  Paris 
by  R.  Helleu,  for  which  Brangwyn  has  made  about  forty  woodcuts, 
all  so  alive  with  imagination  and  so  rich  and  varied  in  motif  and 
expression  that  Verhaeren  examined  proofs  from  the  v/ood  avec  une 
grande  emotion.  I  have  entered  some  of  these  woodcuts  in  my  index, 
and  students  of  Brangwyn  cannot  give  too  much  attention  to  their 
persuasive  power  and  originality.  They  will  note,  for  instance,  eight 
full-page  woodcuts:  "La  Mort,"  "The  Church,"  with  the  religious 
ceremony  in  a  street,  "The  Port,"  "A  Colliery,"  "A  Monk  Preach- 
ing to  a  Throng  of  Workmen,"  "The  Monument,"  "A  Revolt," 
with  a  Gothic  church  in  flames,  and  "Building  a  Ship."  As  for 
the  smaller  cuts,  each  has  its  own  charm,  and  the  headpieces  and 
tailpieces  come  hot-loot  from  a  great  artist  through  the  poems  that 
he  illumines  as  well  as  illustrates.     In  fact,  Verhaeren  and  Brangvsryn 

226 


are  at  one,  and  the  poet's  enthusiasm  over  the  proofs  is  the  best  re- 
compense that  his  interpreter  can  receive. 

4.  In  another  memorable  book  on  Belgium,  accompanied  by  careful 
and  sympathetic  notes  by  Hugh  Stokes,  who  knows  his  Belgium 
well.  It  was  published  in  19 16  by  Kegan  Paul,  Trench,  and  Co.,  to 
be  what  is  known  as  a  Charity  Book.  In  this  time  of  war  Brang- 
wyn  did  this  work  as  an  act  of  homage  to  a  great  little  nation 
stricken  by  disaster.*  ' 

II 

In  this  book  on  the  little  towns  of  Flanders  it  is  evident  at  once  that 
Brangwyn's  woodcuts  have  a  manner  all  their  own  ;  they  are  as  apart 
from  routine  as  is  the  volcanic  and  scientific  warfare  by  which  they 
were  inspired  to  aid  a  "charity" — a  word  too  often  employed  to-day 
as  a  synonym  for  duty.  They  come  from  a  genuine  innovation,  de- 
pending for  its  effects  on  the  varied  art  with  which  white  lines  and 
white  shapes  are  flashed,  as  it  were,  upon  a  black  surface,  to  fashion 
what  I  ask  leave  to  call  a  meteoric  picture,  a  picture  so  very  ardent, 
and  vivid,  and  expressive,  that  its  lighting  has  a  power  not  to  be  met 
with  among  other  woodcuts,  whose  graphic  method  is  a  synthesis  of 
black  lines  and  shades  on  a  white  surface. 

Not  only  is  this  Brangwyn  manner  a  realm  apart,  it  is  also  auto- 
cratic, altogether  arbitrary,  though  pregnant  with  magic.  Its  best 
aesthetic  results  are  wonderful,  inviting  us  to  think  of  illuminations 
akin  to  those  which  come  after  dark  from  lightning  and  searchlight, 
or  from  luminous  meteoric  phenomena,  or  from  active  volcanoes,  or 
else  from  star  shells.  If  we  speak  of  it,  then,  as  searchlight  wood 
engraving,  thrown  upon  midnight  darkness,  we  get  as  near  as  we 
can,  in  a  figure  of  speech,  to  the  very  original  poetry,  incanescent 
here  and  incandescent  there,  that  these  new  phases  of  Brangwyn  de- 
coration often  conquer  from  the  little  towns  of  Flanders. 
Vividness  of  harmonious  effect  from  block  printing  between  con- 
trasts of  white  and  black  owes  much  to  differing  papers  :   common 

*  As  a  boy,  let  us  remember,  F.  B.  did  much  woodcutting  and  engraving,  so  that  his 
present  dehght  in  the  qualities  to  be  got  from  wood  renews,  as  well  as  extends,  a  phase 
of  his  versatility.  He  never  attached  himself  to  the  Bewick  school  of  wood-engraving 
that  derived  its  delicate  fine  lines  from  copper  plates,  preferring  the  broad,  fat  line 
which  began  to  come  into  vogue  just  before  the  eighteen-sixties,  when  three  periodi- 
cals— Cornhill,  Good  Words,  and  Once  a  Week — started  to  lead  the  way  in  a  series 
of  sterling  woodcuts  after  Houghton,  Pinwell,  Fred.  Walker,  Whistler,  Millais,  and 
others  also. 

227 


wood-pulp  rubbish  dulling  the  blacks,  while  Japanese  paper  gives  in 
full  measure  to  Brangwyn's  woodcuts  their  eruptive  brilliance  and 
their  eery  power  and  charm. 

But  we  must  carry  this  analysis  a  good  step  farther.  Let  us  remember 
that  action  gives  rise  to  slow  reaction  only  when  it  is  mild,  gradual, 
and  close  to  ruling  customs  and  routines.  As  soon  as  it  grows  intense, 
like  this  white-hot  crescendo  of  innovating  light  and  mystery,  swift 
and  intense  reaction  is  invited,  and  many  a  mind,  I  fear,  accepts  the 
invitation  with  a  will,  though  a  little  reflection  would  or  should 
convince  it  that  Brangwyn  has  called  up  into  graphic  art  woodcuts 
and  brush  drawings  not  less  valuable  than  they  are  off  the  beaten 
track,  somewhat  like  Edgar  Poe's  tales,  which  Brangwyn  should 
translate  into  his  uncanny  wood  engraving.  Yet  this  newness,  so 
ardent,  superlative,  unique,  would  be  easier  to  enjoy  if  it  were  put 
before  the  world  with  as  much  thrift,  as  much  royal  avarice,  as  a 
musician  of  genius  employs  when  he  goes  at  full  strength  and  speed 
into  an  orchestration  that  seems  to  make  symphonies  out  of  thunder 
peals  and  exploding  shells. 

A  woodcut  here  and  there  suggests  another  analogy.  Here,  for 
example,  is  tempered  moonlight  around  and  upon  the  cathedral  and 
belfry  of  Tournay,  which  seem  to  be  lit  up  by — may  I  suggest  a 
flight  of  angels  flushing  into  sorrowful  anger  as  they  pass  through  a 
nation  ravaged  by  foul  war  ?  You  may  dream  into  it  what  you 
please,  so  very  suggestive  is  the  ghostly  or  spectral  design  enchanted 
from  black  by  white,  leaving  the  black  pure  in  many  places  and 
making  it  incanescent  elsewhere.  This  art,  which  evokes  a  dark  city 
at  midnight  into  a  dim  etiolation,  is  not  for  all  the  world ;  and  let  it 
be  shown  in  a  book  with  a  thrift  like  that  which  should  rule  over 
the  use  of  rare  gems  amid  a  drilled  and  dressed  assembly  at  Court. 
As  Crown  jewels  are  kept  in  the  Tower  of  London,  so  there  are 
manifestations  of  unique  art  which  should  be  kept  by  their  producer 
under  lock  and  key,  as  it  were,  to  be  revealed  now  and  then,  by  books 
and  exhibitions,  in  a  few  chosen  examples  only.  Koh-i-noors  would 
be  prized  no  more  than  herrings  if  they  were  as  numerous  and  as 
easy  to  get. 

If  unique  splendour  is  to  put  its  own  complete  spell  on  everyone 
who  has  imagination,  and  a  willingness  to  feel  intensely,  its  qualities 
should  never  be  seen  all  at  once  in  a  large  enough  number  of 
kindred  things  to  stale  their  uniqueness.  After  reaction,  as  a  rule, 
staleness  comes.      A  fire  burns  down   into   ashes,  which   glow  and 

228 


l^ON  T  1'  K--  i;  A  U  n  K  IS  \  1  l;  l<  I  '.  K  -. 
URAWINi;  FOR  "A  HOOK.  OF  UKi.t  ;1U  M,"  MV 
l!UANi;\VVN  &   HUGH   STOK.KS.      ( Kc^a'i  I'aul  i^  Co.) 


smoulder  until  they  die  out  one  by  one.  Such  fires  are  lighted  by 
most  innovation,  and  they  burn  fiercely  for  months  or  years,  then 
flicker  into  cold  commonplaces. 

Already  I  have  listened  to  some  fierce  raids  on  Brangwyn's  woodcuts 
in  his  Belgian  Book;  listened,  for  a  man  who  replies  by  word  of 
mouth  to  flood-tide  dislike  or  reaction,  is  as  foolish  as  he  would  be 
if  he  hurled  barrels  of  gunpowder  into  a  burning  house.  Listen 
quietly,  then,  remembering  that  noisy  fault-finding  is  no  more 
criticism  than  the  crash  of  a  falling  tree  is  arboriculture.  Besides,  it 
is  the  lot  of  genius  to  strike  flame  from  hard  minds,  and  Brangwyn 
has  passed  from  one  stake  to  another  in  that  sort  of  censure  which 
is  intended  to  burn  or  scorch. 

But  when  I  ask  myself  why  his  great  Belgian  Book  has  enabled  me 
to  hear  once  more  such  hot  and  foolish  talk  as  that  which  assailed 
"The  Buccaneers,"  and  "Trade  on  the  Beach,"  and  "St.  Simeon 
Stylites,"  and  "The  Scoffers,"  and  even  "The  Cider  Press";  when 
I  ask  myself  this  question,  one  answer  comes  from  day  to  day,  and 
it  seems  to  be  correct :  that  too  many  jewels  were  put  into  the  same 
casket  when  the  book  on  Belgium  was  gemmed  with  fifteen  initial 
letters,  twenty-three  headpieces  and  tailpieces,  and  nine  and  twenty 
full-page  plates.*  We  see,  then,  that  Brangwyn's  original  search- 
light, with  its  unique  brilliance,  its  eruptions  of  glorious  patterning 
white  on  midnight  darkness,  appears  in  no  fewer  than  fifty-two 
designs,  excluding  the  initial  letters. 

For  all  that,  it  is  a  book  enchanted,  and  surely  permanent  ;  a 
classic  in  English  book  production.  Is  it  really  above  the  heads  of 
that  vast  public  to  whom  the  Charity  Books  published  since  1914,  to 
the  injury  of  many  authors  and  their  families,  have  made  a  frequent 
appeal?  As  well  offer  Dante  and  Milton  to  a  music-hall  audience. 
For  the  rest,  though  too  many  jewels  triumph  less  than  just  enough, 
the  excess  of  innovating  beauty  in  this  book  may  be  countered  by 
those  who  wish  to  enjoy  it  properly. 

Indeed,  there  are  two  ways  by  which  this  excess  of  beauty  may  be 
neutralized.  So  let  me  say  a  few  words  on  each.  The  main  thing 
to  be  considered  is  the  influence  of  those  plates  where  this  new  art 
is  most  superlatively  itself,  a  quite  wondrous  glory  of  insurgent  white 
design  flashing  out  from  a  blackness  that  answers  formidably ;  as  in 
The  Cloth  Hall  at  Ypres,  where  architecture  and  graphic  art  are 
transfigured  as  by  an  aurora  borealis.  Other  examples  are  the  Palais 
*  H.  G.  Webb  engraved  fifteen  blocks,  and  C.  W.  Moore  ten. 

229 


des  Archives  at  Malines,  quite  magical,  and  The  Calvary  of  St.  Paul 
at  Antwerp;  The  Church  of  St.  Walburge  at  Furnes,  which  seems 
to  be  illumined  by  a  bursting  star  shell,  and  The  Broil  Toren  at 
Courtray,  with  its  darkling  poplars;  also  The  Belfry  and  Town  Hall 
at  Ghent,  where  enchanted  flags  and  banners  wave  from  black 
phantom  buildings  above  an  uncertain  procession  that  might  well  be 
a  midnight  visit  under  the  moon  from  dead  rivals  who  are  not  yet 
friends.  In  all  these  kindred  invocations  the  frisky  Ulenspiegel 
would  be  at  home,  with  his  friend  Lamme  Goedzak,  and  Nele  also, 
"sweet  as  a  saint  and  beautiful  as  a  fairy,"  though  daughter  of  an 
old  witch  named  Katheline.* 

But  if  you  look  at  them  all  in  the  same  hour,  or  on  the  same  day, 
you  will  set  them  to  cancel  one  another  by  staling  their  brilliance 
and  their  eeriness.  Don't,  then!  On  the  same  day  never  look  at 
more  than  two  or  three,  and  for  the  same  reason  which  caused  Edgar 
Poe  to  say  that  a  long  poem  must  be  read  as  a  series  of  short  poems, 
if  good  sense  wants  to  answer  the  appeals  in  a  proper  mood  and  with 
full  enjoyment. 

Further,  the  Church  of  St.  Walburge  at  Furnes  ought  to  be  compared 
with  Brangwyn's  etchings  of  the  same  architecture.  Then  you  will 
see  that  his  woodcut,  though  it  seems  to  be  a  flashlight  in  arbitrary 
decoration,  has  achieved  more  than  the  etched  work,  just  as  moon- 
light and  sunlight  achieve  more  than  gray  weather.  And  it  is 
equally  useful  to  compare  Brangwyn's  woodcut  of  Windmills  at 
Bruges  with  the  noble  etching  in  which  they  are  transfigured.  1 
know  not  which  is  preferable  as  a  work  of  original  vision  and  un- 
common emotion.  Different  qualities  are  present,  but  equally  satisfy- 
ing. Note,  too,  that  although  Brangwyn  in  many  etchings  has  proved 
himself  a  master  of  crowd  impressions,  he  is  a  better  master  often  in 
the  crowds  that  people  the  foregrounds  of  a  good  many  woodcuts ; 
though  I  wish  he  had  not  put  a  democrat  orator  into  his  woodcut 
of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Peter  at  Louvain,  as  he  has  used  this  mordant 
good  idea  in  his  etching  of  Notre  Dame,  Paris. 

In  St.  Peter's  at  Louvain  the  engraving  follows  vertically  the  grain 
of  the  wood  block,  which  runs  up  the  cathedral  and  the  sky,  white 
and  gray  lines  etiolating  a  black  surface  until  spectral  architecture 
with  its  many  pointed  windows  looms  out  from  a  streaked  sky,  across 

*  Have  you  read  the  story  in  which  De  Coster  has  renewed  the  adventurous  follies  ot 
Thyl  Ulenspiegel  ?  Thirty  years  ago  I  read  it  with  delight.  That  it  has  not  been 
done  into  English,  and  illustrated  by  Brangwyn  and  Rackham,  is  a  thousand  pities. 

2?0 


which,  high  up,  from  another  building,  a  gargoyle  juts  forth  its  head. 
The  sky  here  is  a  quivering  duotonc,  while  in  some  other  woodcuts 
it  has  either  sinister  or  unearthly  effects,  with  rolling  cumulus  clouds 
piled  into  what  I  feel  tempted  to  call  a  rhapsody  of  flashing  move- 
ment, as  behind  the  Palais  des  Archives  at  Malines. 
And  there's  another  thing  to  be  sought  by  those  who  wish  not  to  be 
startled  into  inept  criticism  by  a  new  method  as  powerful  as  it  is  at 
odds  with  custom.  Several  full-page  plates,  like  the  charming  old 
timber  house  at  Ypres,  now  destroyed  by  shell  fire,  or  like  the  heroic 
old  street  at  Antwerp,  at  once  exquisite  and  venerable,  would  put  life 
and  charm  into  any  book  on  architecture,  so  much  do  they  give  of 
form  and  mass  and  inward  spirit.  Consider,  too,  the  neglected 
Abbey  of  Ter  Doest  at  Lisseweghe.  What  a  genuine  discovery  !  It 
is  a  godsend  to  students  of  primitive  architecture,  tor  its  great  fayadc 
comes  sweeping  down  to  earth  as  a  triangle,  a  vast  and  rich  gable  of 
the  thirteenth  century  at  rest  upon  the  ground.  Five  pointed 
windows  remain,  each  with  two  lights  and  a  round  eye  in  its  head. 
A  lean-to  of  some  sort  has  been  added  by  spoiling  hands  to  hide  the 
lower  part  of  this  rare  facade.  Bruised,  battered,  in  ruins,  this  abbey 
is  treated  as  little  more  than  a  grange,  seemingly  an  offshoot  from  a 
farm,  so  Brangwyn  has  added  a  timber-wagon  and  its  horses — a 
pleasant  mask  across  that  lean-to. 

Sidney  O.  Addy  will  be  charmed  by  this  woodcut.  In  his  excel- 
lent book  on  the  Evolution  of  Our  English  House  he  treats  of 
triangular  buildings,  gables  on  land,  and  shows  two  in  photographs. 
One  of  them  is  an  Irish  example  at  Dingle,  known  as  the  "oratory" 
of  Gallerus ;  a  primeval  structure  made  of  dry  rubble  masonry  and 
with  only  one  room,  15  ft.  3  in.  long  by  10  ft.  wide.  The  other 
example  is  a  thatched  house  at  Scrivelsby,  near  Horncastle,  popu- 
larly known  as  Teapot  Hall,  and  built  of  two  pairs  of  straight 
crucks.  These  crucks  or  gavels  extend  from  the  four  corners  of 
Teapot  Hall  to  the  ridge-tree,  which  they  support,  and  the  frame- 
work is  firmly  strengthened  by  wind-braces.  In  length,  breadth, 
and  width  this  triangular  home  is  nineteen  feet.  Bede  tells  us  that 
Bishop  Eadberht  removed  the  wattles  from  a  church  built  in  this 
way  and  covered  it  all  over  with  lead,  from  its  roof  to  the  walls 
themselves;  and  we  learn  also,  on  Malmsbury's  evidence,  quoted 
by  Addy,  that  an  old  church  at  Glastonbury  was  covered  with 
lead  from  its  summit  to  mother  earth.  Here,  then,  we  find 
triangle    churches    of   the    eighth     and     twelfth    centuries,    so    the 

231 


Abbey  of  Ter  Doest,  or  All  Saints,  at  Lisseweghe,  had  sacred 
forerunners. 

And  now  we  pass  on  to  the  second  means  by  which  anyone  who 
does  not  yet  know  Brangwyn's  book  on  Belgium  can  prevent  its 
uncanny  woodcuts  from  seeming  too  many  and  too  startling.  Since 
1914  two  books  of  woodcuts  on  the  little  towns  of  Flanders  have 
been  published,  and  it  is  useful  to  both  when  they  are  studied 
together,  because  they  come  from  kindred  spirits,  though  their 
methods  differ.  The  second  one  contains  twelve  woodcuts  by  Albert 
Delstanche,  with  good  notes  by  the  engraver  and  a  charming  pre- 
fatory letter  from  the  later  Emile  Verhaeren.*  If  you  compare  Del- 
stanche's  treatment  of  the  Quai  Vert  at  Bruges  with  Brangwyn's 
Pont  des  Baudets  at  Bruges,  or  Brangwyn's  Cathedral  of  St.  Rom- 
baut  at  Malines  with  Delstanche's  decorative  vision  of  the  Belfry  at 
Bruges,  you  will  see  at  once  that  these  artists  are  cater-cousins  in 
their  woodcuts,  though  their  orchestration  of  black  and  white 
differs.  Yes,  and  Delstanche's  old  houses  on  Le  Quai  aux  Herbes, 
Ghent,  is  a  parallel  to  Brangwyn's  etching  of  old  houses  in  the  same 
proud  city  ;  and  what  Verhaeren  wrote  to  Delstanche  brings  us  very 
close  indeed  to  Brangwyn's  enchanted  Belgium: — 

"  You  are  working  here  in  London  from  notes  and  rough  sketches  made  in 
happier  days,  and  you  are  ignorant  as  to  whether  the  beauty  you  are  reveal- 
ing is  already  dead  or  still  alive.  But  the  very  strain  of  this  uncertainty 
will  inspire  you,  surely,  with  a  deeper  fervour,  and  you  will  approach  your 
work  with  a  sort  of  ardent  piety  and  a  sense  of  almost  sacred  devotion. 
For  it  is  certainly  true  that  anything  we  love,  when  danger  threatens  it  more 
and  more,  grows  more  and  more  dear  to  us.  The  very  stones  of  our  towns 
are  like  memories,  mustered  and  brought  together  from  age  to  age  ;  so  they 
have  become  blended  with  our  inmost  thoughts  and  feelings — a  pile  of  little 
souls,  as  it  were,  massed  and  cemented  in  a  bond  of  perfect  sympathy.  .  .  . 
"These  little  towns,  then,  began  by  arousing  your  interest.  Later  you 
grew  to  love  them  ;  and  now  you  lavish  on  them  all  your  art.  For  you 
know  .  .  .  their  quiet  streets — where  at  footfall  of  a  passer-by,  little 
curtains  at  small  windows  flutter  apart  that  those  within  may  look  out  and 
see  who  it  is  that  can  be  troubling  the  silence.  You  are  familiar,  too,  with 
places  made  glorious  by  fights  of  long  ago,  where  blood  was  spilt  in  those 
famous  combats  between  Fullers  and  Weavers,  Butchers  and  Brewers  ;  you 
have  listened  to  the  tragic  bourdon  of  big  bells,  and  airy  music  from  the 
carillon,  with  grave  and  punctual  chimes  that  sound  from  many  a  clock 
tower.     You  have  loitered  at  inns,  at  the  Trois  Rois  or  the  Cheval  Blanc,  to 

*   The  Little  Towns  of  Flanders.     Chatto  and  Windus.     Price  1 2/6  net. 

232 


I.VTERIOR  OV  THE  CHURCH  AT  DIXMUIJKN." 
DRAWING  FOR  "A  HOOK  OF  HELCIUM,"  HV 
i'.RANCiWYN  &  HUGH  STOK.F.S.  (.A'cgau  Paul &■' Cd.) 


sketch  from  its  doorway  a  brewer's  cart  whose  pile  of  barrels  oozes  at  the 
bung  with  frothy  ale ;  .  .  .  and  you  have  loved  to  stand  a-gaze  at  the  same 
old  bridge  with  its  three  arches,  reflected  so  clearly  in  the  water  that  you 
almost  hope  to  descry  there  the  arrow  that  an  invisible  archer  is  stringing 
to  his  bow,  to  shoot  the  mirrored  stars.*  And  even  now  you  can  recall  to 
mind  the  pitch  of  that  roof  at  the  far  end  of  a  market-place,  or  the  angle  of 
that  gable  on  the  front  of  a  burgomaster's  house,  or  the  column  under  an 
oriel  window  at  the  left  ot  a  market-place,  or  that  carved  capital,  in  the 
right  aisle  of  the  Cathedral,  which  beautifies  St.  Peter's  Chapel  with  its 
Norman  monsters  intertwined  in  a  struggle  of  tooth  and  claw.  ...  So 
you  are  able  to  translate  more  than  the  crude  reality  ot  these  things.  You 
surprise  out  of  them  their  spiritual  significance.  For  you  do  not  try  to 
separate  the  image  from  its  aureole;  on  the  contrary,  you  are  content  that 
the  aureole  shall  give  its  value  to  the  image.  You  succeed,  then,  not 
merely  in  entertaining  us,  but  also,  and  much  more,  you  make  us  feel. 
And  your  book,  it  will  be  a  book  of  faith.  For  it  is  understood,  is  it  not, 
that  everything  of  ours  that  is  down  shall  soon  rise  again;  that  Ypres, 
Dixmude,  Alost,  Termonde,  Louvain,  Dinant,  Vise,  will  lie  in  ruins  only 
for  so  long  as  their  invader  soils  our  soil;  that  already  stones  that  are 
fallen,  but  not  broken,  begin  to  be  impatient  to  regain  their  true  position, 
here  on  a  pediment,  there  on  the  base  of  a  column;  and  that  from  the 
death  of  so  many  things  shall  spring  the  life  of  many  things  more.  Thanks 
to  your  woodcuts,  handled  so  tenderly  and  confidently,  this  resurrection  of 
the  little  towns  of  Flanders  will  come  to  pass,  perhaps  all  the  more  quickly. 
You  are  giving  us  good  counsel.  It  is  the  best  I  can  wish  you.  And  it 
will  be,  1  trust,  your  reward." 

Nobly  said,  and  in  bulk  even  more  apposite  as  a  tribute  to  Brangwyn's 
vision  than  to  that  of  Delstanche ;  for  the  frequent  coming  of  a 
supernatural  spell  and  glory  into  the  Brangwyn  woodcuts  may  be 
taken  sometimes  as  a  prophecy  full  of  hope,  a  transfiguration  of  to- 
day and  a  suggester  of  that  new  birth  through  which  the  torn  and 
trampled  little  towns  of  Flanders  must  be  made  to  pass:  above  all  by 
those  who,  in  the  years  before  this  war,  often  made  their  homes  in 
a  gabled  quietness  as  eloquent  as  an  aged  chronicle.  Once  more,  as 
in  Brangwyn's  woodcut,  happy  poor  shall  taste  the  anodyne  of  a 
sweet  serene  charity  below  the  great  beams  of  a  Cloth  Hall  at  Ypres ; 
and  once  more,  as  in  Brangwyn's  woodcut,  at  a  midnight  service,  a 
wonderful  mystery  of  darkness  and  glowing  light  shall  dwell  within 
a  Gothic  church  at  Dixmude.  To  Brangwyn  then,  who  was  born 
at  Bruges,  and  to  myself  also,  who  lived  in  Belgium  for  the  greater 
part  ot  ten  student  years  abroad,  there  can  be  nothing  now  that   is 

*  See  Brangwyn's  "Pont  des  Baudets  at  Bruges." 
2    H  233 


prosaic  within  the  little  towns  of  Flanders,  where  a  whole  race  of 
men,  age  after  age,  put  itself  into  monuments  before  each  of  its 
generations  made  way  for  another.  Whether  Brangwyn  gives  a 
manifold  realness  to  the  lofty  Castle  of  Walzin,  Province  of  Namur, 
or  records  the  ruins  of  Villers  Abbey  with  a  procession  of  monks 
who  revisit  the  midnight  air,  a  genuine  poetry  as  epical  as  history 
informs  his  technical  expression ;  and  so  we  get  to  close  quarters 
with  the  inward  secrets  of  this  book  on  stricken  Belgium,  who  has 
yet  to  feel  even  the  presence  of  purgatory  after  four  years  of  a 
Prussian  hell.  How  completely  tragical  her  lot  has  been ;  and  yet, 
note  with  grief,  how  seldom  her  lot  is  mentioned  in  daily  talk!* 
Even  her  most  native  poet,  true  expression  of  her  deeper  and  better 
self,  Emile  Verhaeren,  died  tragically,  as  if  sorrows  must  end  their 
frieze  of  tragedies  as  sculptors  do  a  frieze  of  figures,  in  a  line  but 
little  broken  and  on  the  same  plane.  But  yet  the  frieze  of  tragedies 
will  end :  so  I  turn  once  more  to  Brangwyn's  vision  of  the  sometime 
Cloth  Hall  at  Ypres,  glorious  in  a  northern  daybreak,  a  wondrous 
dawn  ascending  in  streams  of  light  toward  the  zenith  from  be- 
hind a  black  bank  of  cloud  below  the  old  tower  and  its  pinnacled 
high  roof. 

Still,  I  know  that  this  interpretation  of  imaginative  art  comes  within 
the  verdict  that  Russell  Lowell  delivered  on  human  speech : 

"  Words  pass  as  wind,  but  where  great  deeds  were  done 
A  power  abides  :  transferred  from  sire  to  son." 

*  This  was  written  in  the  tragical  spring  of  1918. 


234 


CHAPTER    XVII        BRANGWYN    &    ENGLISH 
WATER-COLOUR 


lis  frequent  work  in  this  melodious 
medium  dates  from  his  first  marine 
period  and  the  Royal  Academy  of 
1887,  when,  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
'he  began  to  take  his  placx-  among 
our  aquarellists,  exhibiting  a  sober  and  reticent  study  named 
"Sunday."  It  was  a  sailor's  day  of  rest,  with  men  at  ease  in  the 
stern  of  a  boat,  leaning  over  the  side  and  puffing  idly  at  their 
pipes. 

Eight  years  ago  I  wrote  a  chapter  on  the  general  trend  of  Brang- 
wyn's  water-colours — a  brief  chapter  about  four  pages  long — in 
order  that  they  might  be  seen  more  or  less  in  focus  among  the  more 
important  work  done  during  five  and  twenty  years  of  professional 
industry.  Too  much  was  said  about  Melville,  who  owed  as  much 
to  Brangwyn  as  Brangwyn  owed  to  him.  They  had  a  kindred 
courage,  an  Orientalist  daring  that  a  great  many  persons  either 
feared  or  flouted,  and  each  aided  the  other  to  go  ahead  cheerily, 
using  their  own  colours  without  awe  of  authority,  and  shaping  their 
lives  without  obedience  to  routine.  They  had  made  up  their  minds 
that  their  outlook  on  life  and  art  should  not  fall  asleep  in  any  old 
lap  of  custom.  Controversy  raged  around  them,  and  the  heat  of 
those  days — or  one  somewhat  like  it — may  be  recalled  to  memory 
by  quoting  a  passage  from  H.  M.  Cundall's  A  History  of  JVater- 
Colour  Painting.  In  the  last  page  of  this  book,  after  a  few 
remarks  on  Brabazon,  who  is  dubbed  "an  amateur  painter  of  con- 
siderable means,"  H.  M.  Cundall  says: — 

"  Although  there  has  been  much  clever  work  executed  with  rapid  effects 
produced  solely  by  the  brush,  it  is  doubtful  whether  a  teaching  which  dis- 
penses with  accurate  drawing  of  details  with  a  pencil,  and  relies  solely  on 
broad  washes,  now  pervading  even  schools  for  the  instruction  of  children, 
will  ultimately  become  a  permanent  one.  '  That  there  is,'  says  Sir  William 
Richmond,  R.A.,  '  a  great  mass  of  amateur  work  exhibited  as  consummate 
shorthand,  much  praised  and  prized  by  persons  of  strangely  distorted  taste, 
is  evident  and  growing,  so  that  being  trained  to  accept  as  great  that  which 
is  small,  and  what  is  puerile  is  advanced  as  naive,  this  work  can  easily  be 
tested  upon  principles  laid  down  by  modern  dicta  :  "  as  little  labour  as 
possible,  as  much  indifferent  drawing  as  possible,  as  little  selection  as  possi- 

235 


ble,  as  ugly  as  possible,  and  as  badly  painted  as  possible"  :  nor  is  it  needful 
to  test  the  work  of  a  great  artist  by  any  theories.' " 

The  answer  to  all  this  criticism  is  not  far  to  seek.  First  of  all,  action 
of  every  sort  produces  a  reaction,  which  has  its  beginning  among 
those  who  hate  innovation  ;  and  from  action  and  reaction  alike  art 
and  life  gather  good  and  evil,  blessings  and  banes;  classics,  inveterate 
customs,  and  some  catastrophes.  Then,  as  regards  the  need  of 
testing  the  work  of  a  genius  by  theories,  as  well  try  to  test  by  theories 
the  rival  beauties  of  sunrises  and  sunsets,  or  the  infinite  varied  moods 
through  which  the  sea  passes  from  year  to  year.  Are  Mantegna 
and  Luini  to  be  tested  by  the  same  principles,  or  Raphael  and  Michel- 
angelo, or  Herrick  and  Shakespeare,  for  example  ?  What  Emile 
Verhaeren  wrote  on  Brangwyn  is  true  of  all  original  artists  who  are 
inspired  by  unusual  power  : 

"One  does  not  speak  of  this  Master  with  ordinary  calmness.  Customary 
measures  of  praise  and  blame  are  out  of  place.  Unwittingly,  one's  tone  is 
pitched  higher.  Violent  attack  can  be  understood.  A  hesitating  and  cold 
examination  is  not  permissible.  Frank  Brangwyn  impassions  like  all 
complete  and  mighty  artists.  He  is  accused  of  being  romantic,  but  how 
can  this  accusation  touch  him.''  It  employs  a  term  so  obscure  that  none  has 
ever  been  able  to  define  it  clearly.  Classic,  realist,  symbolist,  romantic  ! 
What  is  there  more  vague  and  more  irresolute  .''  As  well  might  we  make 
a  public  prosecution  in  the  name  of  a  cloud  that  is  blown  across  the  sky  !  " 

Results  alone  count ;  "  by  their  fruit  ye  shall  know  them "  ;  and 
results  can  be  tested  fairly  by  those  alone  who  have  trained  eyes,  and 
unbiassed  minds,  with  a  willing  sympathy ;  and  who  remember  that 
great  men  are  but  superior  men,  not  demigods,  and  have  their  defects. 
In  water-colour  Brangwyn  has  been  himself,  bold  always,  and  often  apt 
as  an  explorer,  a  collector  of  adventures,  some  little  and  others  big. 
To  the  Royal  Academy  of  i  890  he  sent  a  large  gray  aquarelle,  with 
loiterers  on  a  pierhead  who  watched  a  foreign  boat  come  in ;  and  a 
larger  one  was  exhibited  the  same  year  at  the  Grosvenor  Gallery. 
Its  motif  was  a  group  of  fishermen  reading  77;*?  Weekly  Dispatch 
in  the  yard  of  a  seaside  inn.  They  had  come  upon  a  good  story,  and 
each  enjoyed  it  in  his  own  way.  The  colour  was  gray  and  quiet ; 
but  in  1890,  also,  at  the  British  Artists,  an  oil  sketch  of  men 
"  Loading  Grain  on  the  Danube "  marked  a  coming  change  in 
Brangwyn's  outlook,  gamut,  and  technique.  Two  years  later  this 
fact  was  evident  in  a  vivid,  splashing  water-colour,  "  Puerta  de 
Passage,  Spain." 

236 


•THK  DUOMO,  lAORMINA."  I'ROM  A 
WATER-COLOUR  SKETCH  IN  THE 
COLLECTION  OF  R.  A.  WORKMAN.  ESO. 


Between  1895  and  1904  his  water-colour  was  represented  at  various 
exhibitions  by  "  The  Market  Place  of  Algeciras,"  "  The  Beach  at 
Funchal,  Madeira,"  and  "A  Moorish  Well,"  which  was  bought  for 
the  Luxembourg  Gallery,  and  which  to  this  day  represents  worthily 
his  Easternism.  A  Morocco  boy  in  a  golden  yellow  gown  carries  a 
water-gourd,  and  behind  is  a  group  of  figures,  who  make  plots  of 
sunned  form  against  sober  green  bushes.  Every  touch  has  verve 
and  life  in  it:  and  hue  after  hue  joins  in  a  vigorous  cry  of  good 
original  colour.  Boldness  and  breadth,  with  illusion,  belong  to 
Eastern  effects  of  heat,  light  and  repose,  and.  they  are  present  in  this 
water-colour. 

Two  years  later,  in  1907,  as  an  immediate  forerunner  of  an  etching 
now  famous,  Brangwyn  painted  on  blue  paper  a  design  called 
"Boatbuilders,  Venice,"  employing  body-colour  with  resonant  effect. 
Frequently  I  distrust  coloured  paper — except  in  such  a  drawing  as 
Brangwyn's  "  Ironworkers,"  where  a  tinted  paper  accords  quite  well 
with  the  local  tone  and  the  impact  which  a  fine  subject  in  its  own 
setting  expresses.  Often  I  am  sure  that  coloured  paper  does  no  more 
than  enforce  a  rather  despotic  convention  on  drawing.  Now  drawing 
is  conventional  itself:  partly  because  there  are  no  lines  in  Nature,  and 
partly  because  all  things  in  Nature  are  veiled  by  atmosphere,  even 
dark  holes  never  being  so  black  as  ink,  or  black  chalk,  or  soft  pencil. 
In  drawing,  then,  we  have  to  admit,  as  an  essential  art  factor,  that, 
while  painting  and  its  surface  technique  reveal  by  various  methods  a 
selection  of  natural  coloured  forms,  which  pattern  one  upon  another 
in  unified  contrasts  and  concords  of  light  and  dark  tones  and  hues, 
a  master  of  linear  drawing  has  to  employ  a  stringed  instrument  alone 
and  not  an  orchestra.  He  is  a  Paganini,  not  a  Wagner,  and  he 
must  display  the  strings  upon  which  and  with  which  he  charms 
us  into  his  convention.  White  paper  helps  him  because  it  throws 
into  relief  his  convention ;  it  intensifies  his  black  lines,  while  repre- 
senting by  its  colour  the  sky,  with  the  sky's  reflections  and  the  sun's 
luminous  magic.  It  is  thus  a  symbol  that  retains  enough  nature  to 
keep  us  face  to  face  with  Nature's  clearest  light  value  in  our  field 
of  vision  out  of  doors;  but  as  soon  as  a  tinted  paper  is  chosen  and 
employed  as  a  background  for  a  drawing,  whether  a  line  drawing  or 
a  coloured  design  or  composition,  we  fear  that  Nature's  luminous 
field — her  sky  and  the  sky's  agencies  of  light — may  vanish  altogether; 
we  may  cease  to  find  any  normal  order  of  relationship  between  the 
various   elements   of  a   picture.     Then,   as   I   have  said,  a  despotic 

237 


convention  is  imposed  upon  an  art  already  conventional,  and  many 
a  danger  is  added  voluntarily  to  the  difficulties  and  risks  which 
traditional  tools  and  materials  keep  in  an  art  as  natives. 
Blue  paper  denotes  the  Venetian  sky  and  its  reflections,  hut  it  does 
not  suit  Venetian  houses  and  a  yard  in  which  gondolas  are  built,  and 
it  makes  the  use  of  body-colour  necessary,  though  the  most  beautiful 
and  varied  qualities  of  aquarelle  come  from  luminous  paper  under 
washes  of  pigment  which,  in  glow,  impact  and  transparence,  are 
various,  melodious,  and  free  from  the  glossiness  of  dried  oil  paints. 
For  these  reasons  I  prefer  white  paper  under  water-colour,  though  I 
know  that  Brangwyn,  like  other  men  of  genius,  has  a  right  to  break 
rules  and  principles.  As  a  disciple  who  tries  to  interpret  his  ver- 
satility, I  do  not  question  this  right ;  but  as  this  book  will  be  read,  I 
hope,  by  some  young  art  students,  among  other  students  of  art,  let  me 
say  that  an  Achilles  named  a  man  of  genius  has  his  own  bow  and  his 
own  archery,  both  too  strong  for  lesser  men  to  practise  with. 
It  is  true  that  Cotman,  a  rare  spirit  indeed,  used  tinted  papers  pretty 
often,  and  gave  substance  to  a  good  many  of  his  water-colours,  em- 
ploying a  sort  of  paste — I  know  not  how  he  made  it — and  not  flake 
white.  Another  giant,  David  Cox,  used  coarse  tinted  paper  under 
some  grand  broad  impressions  which  used  to  be  deemed  too  rugged ; 
and  Turner  also,  for  sketches,  went  away  sometimes  from  that 
passion  for  translucency  which,  during  the  dark  period  of  his  early 
oils,  when  Loutherbourg  and  William  Daniell  were  among  his  glean- 
ing fields,  caused  him  to  sprinkle  a  prepared  canvas  with  sand,  in 
order  that  grains  of  sand  might  sparkle  dimly  like  wee  globes  of 
light  under  his  pigment.  Great  art  being  Nature  passed  through  the 
alembic  of  genius,  we  accept  with  a  level  mind  what  a  genius  does, 
off  and  on,  outside  his  usual  practice,  though  we  have  a  right  to 
choose  what  we  like  best  from  his  deeds  done. 

When  I  look  back  at  Brangwyn's  early  work  in  water-colour  and  try 
to  see  it  in  company  with  the  later,  I  feel  how  varied  and  honour- 
able his  course  has  been,  and  mainly  in  original  sketching.  To 
speak  figuratively,  he  has  produced  many  a  sketched  ode,  many  a 
lyric,  like  the  exquisite  "Valley  of  the  Lot,"  many  a  beautiful 
tinted  elegy  of  the  wayside  and  the  countryside,  with  a  few  stern 
tragedies,  a  comedy  here  and  there,  and  a  few  epics,  like  the 
"Exodus  from  Stricken  Messina."  There's  truth  in  what  Whistler 
wrote: — "Nature  contains  the  elements,  in  colour  and  form,  of  all 
pictures,  as  the  keyboard  contains  the  notes  of  all  music.      But  the 

238 


artist  is  born  to  pick  and  choose,  and  group  with  science,  these 
elements,  that  the  result  may  be  beautiful — as  the  musician  gathers 
his  notes,  and  forms  his  chords,  until  he  brings  forth  from  chaos 
glorious  harmony.  To  say  to  the  painter  that  Nature  is  to  be  taken 
as  she  is,  is  to  say  to  the  player,  that  he  may  sit  on  the  piano."  It 
is  in  Brangwyn's  water-colour  that  we  see  most  intimately — almost 
in  the  nude,  so  to  speak — how  he  picks  and  chooses  elements  from 
Nature,  and  then  groups  them  with  science  swiftly  and  spon- 
taneously. Long  practice  as  an  artist  has  taught  him  to  do  ;  instinct 
guides  his  choice  of  motif  and  his  use  of  firie  colour  ;  but  science, 
which  teaches  a  man  to  k/iow,  rules  over  his  versatile  spacing  and 
design. 


11 


Since  1910  water-colour  has  been  a  necessary  companion  on  his 
holidays.  It  is  convenient  to  carry,  it  dries  quickly  ;  its  brushes  are 
easy  to  wash,  and  it  is  not  much  affected  by  windblown  dust.  If 
vou  travel  with  oil  colours  and  canvases  they  rule  over  you,  and  you 
become  a  menial  to  your  tools  and  materials.  As  for  the  aquarelles 
that  unite  1910  to  the  present  day,  they  do  in  sketches  precisely 
what  Brangwyn  is  bound  to  do,  unless  he  runs  counter  to  his  own 
genius  ;  and  thus  my  interpretation  must  sum  up  from  his  water- 
colour  work  as  a  whole  and  in  its  most  notable  aspects  and  allusive 
qualities. 

He  has  done  one  set  of  water-colour  impressions,  numbering  about 
fifty,  that  may  be  described,  without  extravagance,  as  tragic  and 
epical.  In  1908,  after  the  earthquake,  Brangwyn  went  to  Messina, 
as  we  have  learnt  from  a  few  of  his  etchings,  and  these  fifty  water- 
colours  are  the  history  of  his  experiences.  Two  Messina  sketches 
were  seen  as  colour-plates  in  my  earlier  book  ;  and  the  whole  series 
proved,  with  mingled  glow  and  gloom,  pathos  and  satire,  grandeur 
and  meanness,  that  men  of  a  day  among  the  ruins  were  often  about 
as  foolish  as  moths  are  at  night  when  they  see  naked  flames.  Now 
and  then  gamblers  and  thieves  were  busy,  and  some  other  fools  made 
themselves  into  beasts  with  drink  and  revel.  Contrasts  between 
prayer  and  levity  jostled  one  another,  as  if  comic  songs  at  a  death- 
bed would  enforce  attention,  like  deep  harmony.  Below  the 
Duomo,  itself  partly  a  ruin,  and  awed  as  by  Dante,  little  busy  men 
would  pray  sometimes,  and  at  other  times  would  care  not  a  jot, 
seemingly,  that  Nature  had  ruled  again  over  human  pride,  destroying 

239 


with  terrible  speed  what  men  had  put  up  with  slow  pains.  Human 
vice  remained,  and  gregarious  custom,  with  half-hours  of  emotional 
prayer,  and  some  other  ordinary  good  behaviour. 
Thus,  in  Brangwyn's  historic  water-colours,  sketched  at  a  white  heat 
among  sinister  ruins,  Messina  in  one  aspect  seems  to  be  what  Chaucer 
writes  about  drunkenness — a  horrible  sepulture  of  man's  reason ;  more 
fate-haunted,  of  course,  since  earthquake  has  made  an  epic  of  desola- 
tion where  many  a  year  of  good  material  work  done  by  man  is  injured, 
or  broken,  or  smashed.  Yet  we  cannot  say  that  human  folly  seems 
to  have  a  longer  tenure  of  life  than  human  thought  and  handicraft, 
for  almost  all  we  know  about  many  a  people  and  many  a  tongue  is 
learnt  from  what  seems  to  be  the  first  and  most  fragile  of  man's  in- 
ventions, pottery,  fictile  art,  like  those  clay  vases  wherein  primitive 
tribes  buried  their  enshrined  dead.  But  yet  it  is  imperative  that 
painters,  like  other  historians,  should  gather  from  disaster  all  that 
Brangwyn  learnt  both  of  nature  and  of  human  nature  amid  the 
wreckage,  grand  and  mean,  at  Messina. 

For  art  is  a  great  deal  more  than  it  is  summed  up  to  be  by  Rodin's 
four  aphorisms.  It  is  more  than  taste,  and  more  than  a  reflection  of 
an  artist's  heart  upon  all  things  that  he  creates ;  more  also  than  the 
smile  of  a  human  soul  upon  the  home  and  its  furnishing;  and  more 
than  thought  and  sentiment — each  with  its  charm — embodied  in  all 
that  is  of  use  to  mankind.  Art  retains  past  ages,  and  reveals  our 
own  times,  and  along  many  lines  foretells  what  is  to  come,  else  it 
could  have  no  chance  of  being  accepted  by  future  generations;  and 
it  owes  quite  as  much  to  tragedy  as  to  those  sacred  qualities  which 
make  some  lives  and  some  works  nearer  to  a  selfless  candour  and 
peace  than  most  men  are  in  their  prayers.  Messina  in  art,  after  an 
earthquake,  is  thus  as  valuable  to  us  as  a  Fra  Angelico,  or  a  Cardinal 
Newman,  whose  very  controversies  prove  him  to  be  as  a  saint  among 
lovely  and  gracious  poets. 

A  collector  offered  to  buy  for  the  Tate  Gallery  one  of  Brangwyn's 
Messina  sketches,  if  the  men  in  office  would  receive  it  properly ;  but 
some  policy  of  the  backstairs  became  too  active,  and  the  water- 
colour  went  elsewhere.  Yet  Turner's  water-colour  sketches,  and  his 
grand  feeling  for  tragedy  among  the  Swiss  mountains  and  in  wrecks 
and  naval  battles,  should  have  taught  even  momentary  men  in  office 
that  Messina  and  Brangwyn  should  be  accepted  together,  being  as 
durable  in  water-colour  as  paper  and  pigment  would  be.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  Turner  would  uphold  the  best  of  Brangwyn's  Messina 

240 


o 

OS  H 


o 


sketches  were  he  living  to-day.  He  was  drawn  toward  painters 
who,  hke  Girtin,  Cotman,  J.  J.  Chalon,  George  Jones,  and  William 
Daniell,  had  grit  enough  to  adventure. 

As  I  have  hinted,  many  of  Brangwyn's  impressions  in  water-colour, 
easy,  swift,  and  slight,  are  to  him  no  more  than  shorthand  notes  are 
to  travelling  men  of  letters,  quite  necessary  as  aids  to  future  work, 
but  likely  to  irritate  those  who  help  to  form  the  cocksure  dunciad 
of  mediocrity.       Dunces  like  to  fizz  over    when    they    see    things 
outside  their  ken;  it  would  tire  them  to  seek  in  their  brain  for  a 
little  thought.      Brangwyn's  coloured  shorthand  was  frequent  in  the 
Messina  jottings :    and   hence,  perhaps,   the   Tate    Gallery  episode. 
But  every  sketch  heralded  the  principal  Messina  etchings,  preparing 
their   artist   for   work   more   testing    than   any   other — sublimation, 
the  act  of  putting  a  tragedy  into  aphoristic  brevity  and  power.    Three 
plates  were  etched  at   Messina,    and  of   these    one    is    memorable, 
"The  Headless  Crucifix";  but  for  incantation  we  return  to  large 
plates  etched  from  water-colours  and  other  sketches,  like  the  Im- 
macolata  di  Marmor  and  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
Does  Brangwyn  himself  set   a   high    enough    value   on   his   water- 
colour  notes,  wayside  jottings,  and  studies  ?      Does  he  keep  enough 
of  them  always  at  hand :   hoarding  these  confidential  memoranda  as 
Charles   Lamb   cherished  books,    thumbed   old  folios   and  "  ragged 
veterans"?     It  seems  to  me  that  he  gets  rid  of  far  too  many,  reveal- 
ing his  methods  through  all  their  ways,  and  his  most  secret  emotions 
in  their  gestation.     As  a  rule,  even  when  sketches  are  given  to  the 
world  as  posthumous  works,  like  diaries  and  private  letters,  their  cream 
alone  should  be  circulated,  unless  they  come  from  inferior  artists, 
mere  moments  in  art.      Dewint's  wayside  jottings   were   dispersed 
unthoughtfully,    and   now   that   collectors    decline    to   sell    his   best 
sketches,  his  oddment  industry  has  begun  to  rise  up  against  his  fame. 
English  water-colour  has  been  harmed  often  by  a  want  of  reverence 
for  sketches.  Turner  alone  setting  a  just  store  by  them  and  treasuring 
vast  numbers.    But  Turner,  like  Tennyson,  watched  over  his  spiritual 
products  as  jewellers  do  over  gems.     He  was  far  too  astutely  cautious 
to  display   with   abandon  to  all   the   world  his  methods  and   their 
undress  of  gradual  development.     So  he  declined  to  teach  drawing — 
except,  it  is  said,  to  Fawkes  of  Farnley,  his  host  of  hosts;   and  once 
when   Mrs.  Paris,   Fawkes  of  Farnley's  daughter,  appealed  to  him 
about  a  technical   matter,   he   touched   with   a   forefinger   his   out- 
stretched palm,  hinting  that  his  words  of  water-colour  were  to  be 

2    I  241 


bought  at  a  price  perhaps,  but  not  by  a  pretty  and  sweet  manner  in 
asking  questions.  Good  Turner  !  His  loneliness  was  peopled  with 
sketches,  sunny  parts  of  himself. 

That  Brangwyn  and  others  do  not  prize  their  sketching  enough, 
though  a  thing  to  be  noted,  is  not  a  thing  at  all  hard  to  explain. 
Its  results,  as  a  rule,  are  as  intimately  personal  as  the  counterfoils  of 
their  cheque-books,  where  the  autobiography  of  their  finance  in 
spending  is  as  evident  as  the  autobiography  of  their  moods  and 
methods  will  ever  be  in  their  unrehearsed  efforts,  outlines,  rapid 
impressions,  and  hinted  improvisations.  But  sketching  to  a  Brangwyn 
is  a  great  deal  easier,  because  far  and  away  more  pleasant,  than 
signing  cheques,  and  we  value  most  what  we  do  with  most  difficulty. 
Turner  was  aided  by  the  fact  that  the  art  of  water-colour — an  art, 
too,  of  English  development  and  English  practice,  like  mezzotint — 
was  often  snubbed  as  a  Cinderella,  so  that  even  Cotman,  that  prince 
of  style,  had  to  teach  drawing,  like  Dewint,  a  colourist  unique :  and 
like  Cox,  our  English  Corot,  full  of  English  breeze,  beauty,  and 
waywardness. 

Brangwyn  has  points  of  affinity  with  these  masters  ;  loving  colour, 
romance,  and  the  sea  as  deeply  as  Turner  loved  them ;  feeling  as  near 
to  mother  earth  as  Dewint  was  and  is  all  through  his  profuse  work  ; 
and  being  as  fond  as  was  David  Cox  of  that  peculiar,  merry  music 
that  seems  to  have  no  other  homes  than  those  that  it  plays  from 
among  British  landscapes,  English,  Welsh,  and  Scotch,  with  their 
backgrounds  of  wondrous  clouds. 

To-day,  fuller  by  far  than  in  1910,  I  see  Brangwyn  as  a  legatee  of 
English  water-colour.  Some  have  put  a  wrong  name  on  his  apt 
allusive  glow,  sparkle,  breadth,  rush,  and  unity,  calling  his  water- 
colour  a  rebel  against  our  national  medium  and  its  traditions ;  though 
the  newness  he  has  added,  easily,  spontaneously,  is  not  more  of  a  rebel 
than  was  the  varied  newness  that  came  from  Girtin,  Turner,  Cotman, 
James  Holland  and  David  McKewan.  Note,  too,  how  emphatic 
is  the  contrast  between  John  Cozens  and  David  Cox,  Rowlandson  and 
J.  F.  Lewis,  Hearne  and  Tom  Collier,  John  Gilbert  and  our  Metsu, 
J.  D.  Linton,  or  Albert  Moore  and  Charles  Green,  our  Jan  Steen. 
F.  B.  and  Rowlandson  have  several  fine  points  of  union,  notably  their 
weight  of  style  and  their  frank  outlook  on  common  lives ;  and  to  Row- 
landson we  may  add,  with  some  reserve,  the  impetuous  John  Gillray, 
whose  political  and  satirical  drawings,  in  number  more  than  twelve 
hundred,  and  in  force  and  fun  and  mood  often  akin  to  Rabelais,  are 

242 


fat  with  life  and  jocund,  frequently,  with  beer  and  broad  farce.  Off 
and  on  Gillray  used  water-colour,  and  as  boldly  as  he  employed  chalk 
and  pen.  Brangwyn  could  never  be  coarse,  as  Gillray  is  often,  but 
he  has  shown  more  than  once,  as  in  "The  Mountebank,"  that  frolic 
and  satire  can  go  cheek  by  jowl  with  his  other  gifts.  And  then  there's 
Gilbert,  Sir  John  Gilbert,  whose  best  water-colours,  robust  and  alive, 
versatile,  vehement  and  fanciful,  give  Brangwyn  another  team 
companion  among  his  forerunners.  Though  Gilbert  worked  far  too 
much  "  out  of  his  head,"  as  children  say,  he  was  a  big  man  by  right 
of  birth  ;  and  such  work  as  his  "Crusaders  on  the  March,"  with  the 
weight  of  steel  and  the  pride  of  chivalry — or  again  "  The  Arrival  of 
Cardinal  Wolsey  at  Leicester  Abbey  " — reveals  his  cousinship  with 
Brangwyn.  The  Crusaders  do  march,  as  F.  B.'s  warships  do  sail  and 
fight  ;  and  as  for  the  Wolsey,  on  a  sheet  of  paper  \\V'  by  2ij",  we 
find  an  abundant  decoration  lit  up  by  cardinal  scarlet  outside  old 
Leicester  Abbey.  Dramatic  verve  is  evinced  through  a  throng  to 
a  sky  troubled  by  wind  and  storm,  yet,  somehow,  as  in  Brangwyn, 
without  fuss  and  noise,  with  a  certain  quietude  inside  the  decisive 
power,  impetus,  and  improvised  romance.  Gilbert  ought  to  have 
been  our  Delacroix  of  water-colour,  but  he  was  far  and  away  too 
busy,  scattering  often  with  rich  depth  of  colour,  and  often  with 
surprising  vigour,  stocks  of  ideas  that  seem  to  have  no  end. 
As  a  rule  we  have  to  look  abroad  among  foreigners,  mainly  French, 
when  we  wish  to  aid  our  interpretation  by  placing  Brangwyn  side 
by  side  with  his  affinities,  cater-cousins,  and  other  free  birds  of  a 
feather.  But  no  sooner  do  we  come  to  his  varied  records  in  water- 
colour  than  his  kinsmen,  both  near  and  weak  of  blood,  are  found  to 
be  English,  one  and  all.  He  would  have  been  at  his  ease  with 
Ibbetson,  and  Cristall  at  his  best  ;  with  Luke  Clennell,  too,  who 
illustrated  Fielding  and  Smollett,  and  painted  in  water-colour 
"Newcastle  Ferry";  and  then  there's  the  good  Frederick  Tayler, 
of  whom  Ruskin  says  in  Modern  Painters :  "  There  are  few 
drawings  of  the  present  day  that  involve  greater  sensation  of  power 
than  those  of  Frederick  Tayler.  Every  stroke  tells,  and  the 
quantity  of  effect  obtained  is  enormous  in  proportion  to  the  apparent 
means."  Consider  this  praise,  and  note  how  truly  it  may  be  applied 
to  those  water-colours  into  which  Brangwyn  has  instilled  his 
happiest  hours  out  of  doors — in  Spain,  Italy,  France,  the  Near 
East,  and  elsewhere.  Tayler  is  a  colourist,  and,  as  a  rule,  it  is  in  his 
rapid  improvisations,  his  cheery  sketches  at  their  best,  and  not  in 

243 


finished  pictures,  that  he,  like  Peter  Dewint,  is  a  classic,  perhaps  for 
many  centuries.  With  some  men,  effort  is  failure,  while  work  in  a 
flash  wins  with  ease  a  fame  that  abides,  or  a  charm  that  lives  on  and 
on.  When  Tayler  with  an  alive  touch  summoned  into  a  hawking 
scene  his  cavaliers  and  chatty,  coaxing  ladies,  all  aglow  with  high 
elegance  and  freedom,  his  joyous  art  came  presto  as  a  creature  of 
impulse,  as  by  magic  ;  and  so  do  Brangwyn's  bolder  and  deeper 
transcripts  of  the  life  he  loves  best  when  he  travels.  In  191  2  about 
a  dozen  typical  water-colours  were  made  at  Toledo,  and  in  France 
he  has  made  find  after  find — at  Larogue,  Figeac,  Puy,  Parthenay, 
Poitiers,  Albi,  Airvault,  and  many  other  places. 

One  Brangwyn  water-colour — "Cannon  Street  Railway  Station  and 
Bridge,"  very  similar  to  the  etching,  and  a  sober,  reticent,  and 
sterling  work — has  a  fawn  and  brown  hue  that  recalls  at  once  to 
memory  a  very  versatile  Englishman  who,  like  Brangwyn,  was  dis- 
covered first  by  the  French,  and,  like  Brangwyn,  passed  from  land- 
scape to  architecture  and  from  coast  scenes  to  history,  failing  not 
often.  Though  R.  P.  Bonington  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven, 
in  1828,  he  left  his  mark  on  Delacroix,  and  his  name  in  durable  oils 
and  water-colours.  In  such  swift  easy  work  as  "  L'Institut,  Paris," 
he  heralds  Brangwyn's  Cannon  Street,  though  he  never  gets  in 
water-colour  a  rich  depth  akin  to  that  which  drew  French  artists  to 
his  oil-paint.  It  was  Bonington,  more  than  Turner,  whom  James 
Holland  loved  in  boyhood,  and  an  exhibition  of  Venetian  work  by 
Holland,  Bonington,  and  Brangwyn  would  be  of  great  value  to  those 
who  like  to  see  how  birds  of  a  feather  fly  when  they  are  seen  in 
company,  with  the  aura  and  spell  of  different  methods  and  times  all 
around  the  quarter-cousinship  of  their  good  gifts.  As  a  painter  of 
sunned  light  and  colour  under  hot  skies,  James  Holland,  like  J.  F. 
Lewis,  helped  to  prepare  a  public  for  Brangwyn.  No  disciple  of 
Turner,  not  Alfred  Hunt,  for  example,  nor  Brabazon's  "  late 
Turners,"  had  a  vogue  even  a  sixth  part  as  wide  as  Lewis's  and 
Holland's  ;  and  let  us  note  also  that  Ford  Madox  Brown's  water- 
colour,  as  in  "  Elijah  Restoring  the  Widow's  Son,"  breaking  away 
from  English  reserve  and  sunlight,  was  another  pathfinder  into 
that  ardent  and  intrepid  Easternism  from  which  Brangwyn  has  won 
many  large-hearted  gains  and  some  big  victories. 
There  are  writers  who  think  that  originality  is  to  some  extent 
harmed  when  it  is  looked  at  side  by  side  with  its  rambling  pedigree, 
yet  interpretation  is  impossible  without  help  from  parallels,  analogies, 

244 


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and  other  aids  that  give  useful  hints.  If,  for  example,  you  take 
Turner  from  gray  boyhood  to  his  versatile  second  youth,  you  must 
needs  feel  and  see  that  his  art,  at  one  point  or  another,  has  affinity 
with  men  so  far  apart  as  Loutherbourg  and  Titian,  Gainsborough 
and  William  Daniell,  Claude  and  Cotman,  Van  der  Capella  and 
Wilson,  Girtin,  George  Barret,  and  several  others. 
So  let  me  gather  from  Brangwyn's  moods  just  a  few  more  hints  that 
recall  his  predecessors,  while  bringing  us  closer  to  his  holidays  in 
water-colour,  which,  like  other  sketches  and  jottings,  cannot  well  be 
approached  by  detailing  analysis.  In  past  days  water-colour  had  a 
varied  influence,  translucent  and  enriching,  upon  English  oil-pictures, 
suggesting  to  Gainsborough  his  use  of  thin,  fluid,  melodious  paint; 
causing  Turner,  in  his  late  and  lyrical  oils,  to  aim  at  effects  which 
he  achieved  completely  in  water-colour  lyrics;  and  causing  Holland 
and  Dewint  to  transpose  some  of  its  qualities  into  their  finest  oils. 
So,  too,  in  Brangwyn's  case,  if  you  study  his  Pont  St.  Benezet  over 
the  Rhone  at  Avignon,  a  masterpiece,  an  epic,  you  will  see  that 
beautiful  glowing  oil-paint,  full  of  depth,  and  with  a  vigour  that 
seems  to  radiate,  has  a  luminosity  akin  to  the  gleam  of  Whatman 
paper  under  a  great  colourist's  water-paint.  Gautier  said :  "  Drawing  ? 
It  is  melody;  and  painting?  It  is  harmony."  There's  harmony  as 
well  as  melody  in  fine  water-colour. 

Again,  among  Brangwyn's  aquarelles  there  are  some  drawings  in 
that  monochrome  wash  which  several  big  men  of  the  past  employed 
frequently,  like  Turner,  David  Cox  and,  less  often,  Dewint.  Here, 
for  example,  is  the  old  bridge  at  Kreuznach  in  Prussia,  on  the  river 
Nahe,  with  quaint  and  tall  timber  houses  built  out  on  corbels  from 
low  and  wide  piers.  Here  the  monochrome  is  grayish,  while  it  is 
amber-brown  in  a  most  virile  and  expressive  drawing  of  the  huge 
defensive  bridge  at  Cordova,  originally  a  Roman  bridge,  but  re- 
modelled by  Moors  of  the  ninth  century.  At  one  end  this  bridge  is 
guarded  by  the  multi-towered  Calahorra;  and  the  city  entrance  has 
a  worn  classic  gateway  and  an  elevated  statue  of  Saint  Raphael, 
patron  saint  of  Cordova.  Another  good  monochrome  is  a  prepara- 
tion for  Brangwyn's  etching  of  the  Pont  Neuf  at  Paris.  One  point 
more:  it  appears  to  me  that,  with  an  exception  here  and  there,  his 
use  of  water-colour  has  much  in  common  with  Constable's,  in  that 
its  function  is  rapid,  vibrant  statement,  and  not  such  built  up  effects 
of  sunlight  and  shadow  as  Clausen  has  gathered  into  mosaics 
composed   with    deft   elaboration.      In    many   oils   Constable   grows 

245 


heavy  ;    he   remains    free   and   brisk   and    hght    in   his   rare   water- 
colours. 

Brangwyn's  wash  gets  easier,  swifter,  freer,  adding  song  after  song 
to  its  accented  sweep ;  three  or  four  hours  enable  it  to  flow  over  a 
large  sketch,  leaving  there  a  decoration  as  well  as  a  travel  study. 
It  is  most  entertaining  to  study  such  contrasts  as  "The  Valley  of 
the  Lot"  and  the  "Exodus  from  Messina"  and  "The  Interior  of 
Notre  Dame  at  Eu,"  setting  them  side  by  side  with  an  earlier  method, 
also  expressive,  where  chalk  drawings,  meditated  as  carefully  as  his 
cartoons  are,  receive  from  water-colour  the  gleam  and  glow  of  a 
sunny  climate.  Sir  T.  L.  Devitt  has  a  typical  work  in  this  line ; 
it  is  named  "The  Orange  Market,"  and  belongs  to  the  year  1901. 
Its  quietude  is  at  once  so  rich,  so  ample  and  so  ornamental  that, 
when  a  reproduction  of  it  is  viewed  side  by  side  with  water-colours 
by  many  other  living  men,  reproduced  in  facsimile,  "it  puts  them  to 
sleep,"  as  old  boxers  used  to  say. 


246 


CHAPTER    XVIII       PASTELS    AND    OTHER    DESIGNS 

I 

lastels  have  never  taken  their 
[iproper  high  rank  in  Society.^  At 
hrst,  and  for  a  long  time,  they 
"were  kept  down  hy  the  jealousy 
^of  oil-painters ;  and  then  they 
became  pets  in  boudoirs,:drawing-rooms,  and  a  iew  dusty,  enjoyable 
studies  where  collectors  defied  their  womenfolk  and  spring  cleaning. 
Never  did  they  rise  into  the  company  of  oil-pictures,  either  in  homes 
or  at  public  shows.  Because  they  were  liked  as  very  nice,  pretty,  clean 
things — "  not  messy,  you  know,  like  oil-paints  " — pastels  achieved 
fame  as  a  boon  to  any  girl  who  wanted  to  be  a  Rosalba  Carriera  without 
spoiling  her  frocks,  or  staining  her  hands,  or  shocking  papa  |and 
mamma  with  the  drying  smell  of  oil  pigments. 

Among  the  Academicians  of  Reynolds's  brave  days,  there  were  two 
pastellists,  both  good,  and  neither  took  his  place  as  an  equal  in  art 
among  those  oil-painters  who  tailed  to  prove  themselves  better  men. 
Good  Francis  Cotes  graduated  into  oils  from  pastels,  taking  with  him  his 
pastel  colour ;  some  of  his  portraits  in  oils  have  been  given  to  more 
marketable  men,  while  others  have  passed  from  obscurity  into  rising 
prices.  Cotes  was  not  so  plucky  as  John  Russell,  who,  living  be- 
tween 1744  and  1806,  worked  on  and  on  in  pastels,  and  became  in 
this  medium  our  English  Raeburn,  English  through  and  through, 
as  candid  as  Fielding,  humorous,  and  either  rubicund  with  good 
wine  or  rosy  with  health  well  aired  by  our  English  woods  and 
fields  and  gardens. 

How  many  persons  of  to-day  care  a  peppercorn  for  Russell  and  his 
free,  fresh,  and  glad  pastels  .?  He  loved  colour  as  Etty  loved  it,  and 
put  hot  blood  under  the  skin,  while  forgetting  at  times  to  give 
enough  body  to  flesh.  And  another  thing  of  interest  is  the  fact  that 
George  III  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  honoured  Russell  as  their 
"  painter  in  crayons."  Painter  in  crayons  !  Here  is  a  phrase  that  I 
like.  It  includes  coloured  chalk  as  well  as  pastel,  and  supplies  us 
with  a  generic  term.  Pastels  are  nothing  more  than  crayons  made 
of  a  paste  composed  of  powder  pigment  ground  with  gum  water  and 
then  dried  into  sticks;  and  whether  we  use  crayons  in  dumpy  and 
powdery  sticks  or  bound  up  between  wood  into  firmer  pencils,  we 
work  in  pastel  crayons,  and  a  generic  term  is  always  welcome,  above 

247 


all  when,  like  a  wise  religion,  it  unites  the  separated  charities  of  many 
rival  sects  and  doctrines. 

To  my  mind,  for  example,  Brangwyn's  crayon  study  for  The 
Crucifixion  is  among  the  great  deeds  which  should  convince  us  that 
pastel  belongs  essentially — not  to  the  art  of  drawing,  but  to  the  arts 
of  colour  and  painting.  Reticent  as  it  is  in  hue  and  tone,  it  has 
qualities — original  freedom  and  power,  with  amplitude  and  rapt 
imagination — which  we  expect  to  find  in  a  virile  master's  inspired 
sketch  with  paint ;  and  any  oil-painter  who  tried  to  copy  its  appeal 
would  find  that  he  had  undertaken  a  hard  task  indeed. 
Or  let  me  choose  another  example  from  Brangwyn's  versatile  pastels. 
Here  are  two  British  workmen  whose  job  in  life  is  to  feed  masons 
with  bricks,  and  who  lean  on  their  hods  to  take  breath  after 
some  up-and-down  exercise  upon  a  high  ladder.  They  are  frank 
and  typical,  and  also  old  enough  to  be  bricklayers,  not  hodmen ;  but 
there's  not  much  brain  to  help  them,  and  ambition  is  frozen  up  in 
a  habit.  To  what  do  we  owe  this  excellent  study  of  character  ? 
To  the  dumpy  sticks  of  powdery  pastel,  or  harder  crayon  en- 
circled by  wood,  or  pieces  of  coloured  chalk  as  naked  and  about 
as  hard  as  conte  crayons  are  .■*  It  matters  not  in  the  least,  for  the 
effect  is  one  of  a  dry  pigment  without  sheen  or  glossiness  applied  as 
decorative  colour  to  a  grained  paper.  Such  pigments  are  members 
of  the  same  family,  whether  a  red  crayon  named  sanguine  or  a 
fragile  stick  called  pastel ;  so  why  should  they  be  treated  as  members 
of  different  and  rival  families  ?  To  my  mind,  anyhow,  the  title 
given  to  John  Russell  by  George  III,  founder  of  our  Royal  Academy, 
has  a  catholicity  that  frees  art  from  unneeded  subdivisions. 
But  the  trouble  is  that  customs  have  as  many  lives  as  cats  enjoy  in  a 
stock  proverb.  Crayons,  pastels,  tinted  chalks,  are  not  allowed  to 
live  together  in  one  art  as  paintings  in  crayons  ;  they  are  looked 
upon  as  drawings,  and  so  are  water-colours.  To  hang  either  among 
the  oils  at  a  public  gallery  might  startle  conventionalists  into  fits 
almost.  Life  being  a  sort  of  gnome  story  in  a  perpetual  fix,  its 
Cinderellas  don't  turn  the  tables  entirely  on  jealous  and  splendid 
sisters,  who  are  usually  so  astute  that  free  trade  in  their  markets  finds 
a  defence  of  tariffs.  Who  knows  why  oil-paintings  should  fetch 
higher  prices  than  pastels  and  water-colours  of  equal  merit  ?  None 
knows  :  but  they  do,  though  oil-paintings  are  often  more  difficult  to 
live  with  as  they  need  often  a  clear  studio  light. 
But,  after  all,  pastels  have  gone  up  in  the  world,  though  they  have 

248 


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not  reached  what  used  to  be  called 
"the  upper  crust"  of  elite  custom 
and  fashion.  In  1898  they  begot 
their  own  society,  and  in  London 
too,  which  often  acts  as  a  bold 
rearguard  to  delay  art's  new  colon- 
ists. During  the  early  eighties 
pastels  were  honoured  by  Belgians 
at  "  L'Essor  "  and  "  Le  Cercle 
des  Vingt."  Meunier  used  them 
masterfully  on  occasions  ;  and  in 
1900,  at  our  Pastel  Society, 
Brangwyn  made  a  hit  with  a 
Meunieresque  bit  called  "-The  Meal,"  a  record  of  Black.  Country 
life,  and  contrasting  strongly  with  a  pastel  named  "  The  Needle," 
shown  the  same  year  at  the  New  Gallery. 

Three  years  later  F.  B.  did  in  pastel  a  set  of  Thames  impressions  for 
the  Studio  Magazine^  and  it  was  hoped  that  the  series  would  run  on 
and  on ;  but  so  much  work  of  more  urgency  pressed  upon  Brang- 
wyn that  he  was  obliged  to  break  off.  One  day  he  said  in  a  fine 
image  :  "  So  many  things  goad  at  me,  claiming  my  time,  that,  upon 
my  word,  I  feel  as  a  baited  bull  must  feel  in  a  Spanish  arena,  when 
he  doesn't  know  which  tormentor  he  should  attack  first." 
If  Brangwyn  be  ever  able  to  show  in  pastel  all  his  fondness  for  the 
fatigued  old  Thames  between  London  and  the  Sea,  he  will  produce 
an  epitome  of  his  Western  art,  with  boats,  barges,  great  ships,  ware- 
houses, workmen  of  many  sorts,  and  striking  architecture,  with 
patches  of  venerableness,  which  is  all  we  have  of  a  real  old  quarter 
in  our  city,  whose  multitudinous  haphazard  lost  so  much  charm  and 
age  not  only  in  the  Great  Fire  of  Wren's  time,  but  also  among  those 
building  adventures  by  Act  of  Parliament  which  Beaconsfield  ridi- 
culed in  TaJicred* 

*  "  It  is  Parliament  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  our  Gloucester  Places,  and  Harley 
Streets,  and  Wimpole  Streets,  and  all  those  flat,  dull,  spiritless  streets,  resembling  each 
other  like  a  large  family  of  plain  children,  with  Portland  Place  and  Portman  Square  for 
their  respectable  parents.  The  influence  of  our  Parliamentary  Government  upon  the 
fine  arts  is  a  subject  worth  pursuing.  The  power  that  produced  Baker  Street  as  a 
model  for  street  architecture  in  its  celebrated  Building  Act,  is  the  power  that  prevented 
Whitehall  from  being  completed,  and  which  sold  to  foreigners  all  the  pictures  which 
the  King  of  England  had  collected  to  civilize  his  people.  In  our  own  days  we  have 
witnessed  the  rapid  creation  of  a  new  metropolitan  quarter,  built  solely  for  the 
aristocracy  by  an  aristocrat.     The  Belgrave  district  is  as  monotonous  as  Mary-le-bone ; 

2    K  249 


Though  industrialism  at  a  great  speed  eats  up  what  is  venerable,  a 
good  many  nooks  and  corners  neighbouring  our  beloved  river  are  to 
this  day  the  best  parts  of  London;  and  hence  they  are  the  parts 
which  Brangwyn  loves  best.  A  daily  walk  to  the  Thames  at 
Hammersmith  refreshed  him  during  many  a  year ;  and  he  may  yet 
do  in  pastel  for  the  industrialized  Thames  what  Turner  did  in  water- 
colour  for  the  romantic  rivers  of  France,  and  what  William  Daniell 
did  in  aquatint  during  his  "Voyage  Round  Great  Britain."  His 
pastel  of  London  Bridge,  with  boys  bathing  and  many  barges  dove- 
tailed into  a  picturesque  platform  below  two  of  Rennie's  round 
arches,  is  among  the  happiest  of  Brangwyn's  many  gleanings  from 
the  Thames. 

About  Brangwyn's  frequent  use  of  pastels  in  his  prefatory  studies  for 
mural  paintings,  and  for  cartoons,  I  have  spoken  elsewhere.  This 
phase  of  his  work  represents  all  his  familiar  qualities,  together  with 
the  special  charm  that  dry  colours  give  on  papers  which  are  chosen 
with  care — that  is,  on  papers  having  a  good  enough  "bite"  to  hold 
a  powdery  material  firmly. 

He  has  written  briefly  on  some  of  the  early  pastellists^La  Tour, 
and  Perronneau,  and  above  all  the  great  Chardin,  whose  pastel 
portrait  of  himself,  like  that  of  his  wife,  heralded  that  method  of 
visualization  which  is  usually  attributed  to  Monet.  Chardin  broke 
up  his  light  and  shade  with  touches  of  pure  colour  put  side  by  side 
with  such  aptness  that  they  helped  one  another  to  suggest  more  sun 
and  fresh  air  than  painters  had  yet  made  real  in  their  studies  of 
atmosphere. 

II 

Diderot  says:  "  Masters  of  art  alone  are  good  judges  of  drawing.  A 
half-connoisseur  will  pass  without  stopping  before  a  masterpiece  of 
drawing."  For  this  reason,  probably,  those  writers  on  art  who  have 
never  passed  through  the  schools  where  practical  effort  often  fails,  and 
where  stern  teachers  give  daily  advice,  have  been  cold  towards  the 
many  and  various  forms  of  good  drawing  which  have  come  from 
differing  endowments.      Many  a  time  very  simple  matters  have  been 

and  is  so  contrived  as  to  be  at  the  same  time  insipid  and  tawdry.  Where  London 
becomes  more  interesting  is  Charing  Cross  ...  its  river  ways  are  a  peculiar  feature 
and  rich  with  associations.  .  .  .  The  Inns  of  Court,  and  the  quarters  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  port,  Thames  Street,  Tower  Hill,  Billingsgate,  Wapping,  Rotherhithe,  are  the 
best  parts  of  London ;  they  are  full  of  character ;  the  buildings  bear  a  nearer  relation 
to  what  the  people  are  doing  than  in  the  polished  quarters." 

250 


forgotten.  For  example,  a  man  of  genius,  when  he  tries  to  overrule 
his  inborn  bent,  sets  affectation  to  defeat  him;  every  phase  of  his 
changing  work  should  arise  from  inward  and  unforced  impulse  and 
necessity,  like  Legros'  gradual  transition  from  rugged  vehemence  to 
the  bewitching  tenderness  ot  many  gold-point  drawings;  and  thus 
genuine  differences  between  men  ot  genius,  which  are  revealed  always 
most  nakedly  in  sketches  and  jottings  and  studies,  whether  coloured 
or  monochrome,  are  things  to  be  received  as  we  accept  from  Nature 
the  distinctive  marks  of  species,  genera  and  breeds. 
"  Le  dessin  c'est  La  Frobite  de  L'Art,"  said  Ingres;  and  so  it  is 
when  it  represents  as  fully  as  possible  what  every  true  artist  has 
natural  power  to  express  through  the  periods  of  his  unaffected  work; 
but  how  mad  it  would  be  to  go  to  Ingres  for  the  qualities  of  Rubens, 
or  to  ask  Brangwyn  for  drawing  like  that  with  which  Ingres  informed 
his  Monsieur  Bertin  and  his  Madame  de  Senones,  or  his  Venus 
Anadyomene,  or  those  incomparable  pencil  portraits,  as  manly  as 
they  are  delicate  and  exquisite,  where  for  all  time  the  society  of  an 
age  lies  within  a  magic  of  wonderful  pencil  strokes  !  Brangwyn 
takes  delight  in  Ingres  as  Ingres,  like  Degas,  who  treasured  for  years 
the  great  pencil  portraits  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Leblanc,  saying 
to  a  trustee  of  our  National  Gallery,  in  the  presence  of  Arsene 
Alexandre:  "Et  sachez  bien.  Monsieur,  que  ces  deux  portraits  ne 
passeront  jamais  le  detroit."* 

Brangwyn  loves  all  good  drawings,  no  matter  how  much  at  odds 
they  may  be  with  his  own  imperious  bent  ;  and  since  this  large 
catholicity  comes  from  within  his  versatility,  none  can  guess  what 
work  it  may  do  on  its  own  accord,  for  its  own  gratification,  during 
the  next  decade  or  so.  Thus  far  two  inborn  joys  have  ruled  over  his 
best  drawing,  his  original  design.  One  of  them  is  action,  action 
accompanied  by  adventure  and  unusual  power,  while  the  other  is  the 
gift  that  makes  him  an  ample  colourist-painter  who  is  fascinated  by 
decorative  weight,  mass,  synthesis,  and  expressiveness.  No  matter 
what  his  medium  may  be,  whether  etching  or  wood  engraving, 
pastel  or  water-colour,  oil-paint  or  ink  lines,  stained  glass  or  designs 
for  household  furniture,  he  is  always  a  man  of  action,  and  a  genuine 
painter  who  is  among  the  colourists  of  art.j- 

*  "  And  mark  welf,  Sir,  these  two  portraits  shall  never  cross  the  Channel." 
f  In  the  earlier  catalogue  of  his  etched  work,  compiled  by  Mr.  Newbolt,  you  will  find 
good    large   reproductions   of    the  drawings   from  which  many  etchings  were  made; 
and  you  will  note  in  the  drawings  the  painterly  qualities,  above  all  in  "  The  Butcher's 

251 


One  of  his  near  affinities,  Eugene  Delacroix,  forgot  pretty  often  that 
genius,  like  every  other  thing  that  lives  and  grows,  gains  what  is 
best  from  within  itself,  spontaneously,  whatever  favouring  influences 
aid  it  from  outside.  Again  and  again  Delacroix  spoke  in  the  voice 
of  Ingres,*  failing  to  see  that  drawing  is  the  scripthand  of  forms, 
and  that  every  true  artist  has  such  a  scripthand  of  his  own,  by  means 
of  which  he  gives  expression  both  to  himself  as  a  man  apart  from 
ordinary  men,  and  to  those  aspects  of  Nature  which  awaken  his  most 
frequent  and  most  seductive  emotions.  With  infinite  patience,  after 
choosing  a  motif  as  naturally  as  a  bird  chooses  its  own  food,  Dela- 
croix toiled  at  preparatory  drawings  and  studies,  often  dry  and  tight, 
only  to  learn  from  his  genius,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  paint,  that 
brushes  and  pigments  were  his  birthright  instruments,  and  that 
abundant  improvisation  was  his  native  strong  point.  He  said  that 
his  imagination,  without  which  he  could  not  live,  would  wear  him 
to  nothing  ;  and  yet,  by  running  counter  to  his  imagination,  he 
increased  his  inward  fever,  to  which  he  must  have  owed  his  "  tete 
bilieuse  de  lion  malade.'^ 

And  these  considerations  conduct  us  into  the  most  useful  and  neces- 
sary of  all  maxims  in  art  :  always  to  wait  with  patient  eagerness 
while  a  man  of  genius  unfolds  in  his  native  way  all  that  he  has  to 
grow  out  of  his  own  good  gifts.  The  variations  in  Brangwyn's 
graphic  art  are  unexampled,  in  so  far  as  living  men  are  concerned. 
There  are  three  or  four  rich  fields  which  he  has  not  explored  ;  as, 
for  example,  the  field  of  portraiture,-^-  and  the  field  of  elusive  and 

Shop,"  "  Building  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum,"  "  Brickmakers,"  "  Bridge- 
builders,"  "The  'Caledonia,'"  "Haymaking,"  "The  Sandshoot,"  "  A  Coal  Mine  after  an 
Explosion,"  and  "  Breaking  up  The  '  Hannibal.""  All  invite  careful  study;  and  those 
in  pure  line,  like  the  "Old  Houses  at  Ghent"  and  "Old  Women  of  Bruges,"  a  very 
earnest  study,  come  from  a  painter  and  colourist.  It  is  almost  impossible  ever  to  say 
of  Brangwyn  that  his  drawing  lacks  colour  and  a  painterly  sweep.  Almoit  impossible ; 
as  a  crayon  drawing  for  his  great  etching  "The  Bridge  of  Sighs" — a  drawing  repro- 
duced in  The  Sttuiw,  Feb.,  1911 — is  neat  and  tight,  a  mere  skeleton  of  the  deep, 
rich  and  ample  etching. 

•  Leonce  B^nedite  says,  for  instance :  "  A-t-on  assez  plaisante,  dans  le  camp  des 
coloristes,  cette  ecole  du  '  fil  de  fer'qui  cernait  les  corps  d'un  trait  inexorable.  Et, 
pourtant,  nous  voyons  le  grand  chef  romantique  s'ecrier  a  diverses  reprises  dans  son 
journal  et  aux  dates  de  la  lutte  la  plus  violente  :  '  la  premiere  et  la  plus  importante  chose  en 
peinture,  ce  sont  lei  contours^  Apres  Gericault,  il  ne  ^ense  c^n'oMX '■  eontours,  ferines  et  bien 
OSes,  et  il  ajoute  quelque  part  (1824):  .  .  .  'y  songer  continuellement  et  commencer  toujour s 
par  la.'" — UArt  au  XIX'  siecle,  page  6$. 

■\  There's  a  sympathetic  etched  portrait  in  profile,  half-length,  of  Mr.  Frank  Newbolt, 
in  barrister's  gown  and  wig;  but  Brangwyn  tired  of  it,  so  he  spoilt  the  plate,  making  it 
into  a  dyspeptic  and  jaded  legal  crank  in  the  act  of  trying  to  look  too  judicial. 

252 


•jt 


classical  balance  and  delicacy,  and  that  field  of  enchanted  sylvan 
loveliness  which  Cotnian,  in  many  a  monochrome  drawing,  unites  to 
manly  design.  But  even  these  fields  cannot  be  closed  to  Brangwyn, 
since  the  masters  of  each  put  a  spell  upon  his  catholicity.  Of  Cot- 
man  he  said  to  me  :  "  I  could  weep  when  I  think  of  what  this  big 
sublime  man  suffered  from  cruel  poverty.  Turner  rescued  him,  we 
know,  and  his  last  eight  years  of  life  as  drawing  master  to  King's 
College  School  were  free  from  a  good  many  bitter  humiliations, 
thanks  to  Turner.  Still,  England  went  wrong  over  Cotman— even 
vilely  wrong." 

But,  whatever  Brangwyn  may  do  during  the  next  decade  or  so, 
perhaps  evolving  into  methods  which  he  has  not  yet  entered,  the 
best  work  already  done,  and  done  with  full  zest  and  zeal,  is  enough 
for  a  long  life  beyond  the  present  one.  What  could  be  more  versa- 
tile than  the  difference  between  his  "Ironworkers"  and  "The  Cruci- 
fixion," or  between  his  "Mater  Dolorosa  Belgica"  and  "The  Butcher's 
Shop".?  He  descends  with  ease  from  tremendous  tragedy  into 
comedy,  as  in  "The  Mountebank,"  and  also  in  a  lithograph  that 
appeals  greatly  to  Henri  Marcel,  who  says  of  it :  "  The  print  where 
Brangwyn  has  aligned  ten  types  of  Buccaneers,  with  their  ridiculous 
accoutrements  and  their  whimsical  awkwardness,  is  most  graphically 
comic."  And  then  we  pass  on  to  a  drawing  so  noble,  so  charmed 
with  divination,  imaginative  fervour,  as  the  serene  study  for  The 
Nativity,  where,  without  effort,  the  rusticity  that  environed  the  birth 
of  Jesus  assumes  a  new  fascination.  I  wish  Legros  had  seen  this 
drawing.  How  enraptured  he  would  have  been  with  those  adoring 
old  men,  and  with  the  whole  setting  and  its  mysterious  charm  and 
atmosphere!  I  think  of  Rembrandt's  "Adoration  of  the  Shepherds," 
and  of  Jacopo  Bassano's  "The  Angel  of  Our  Lord  announcing  to 
the  Shepherds  the  Birth  of  Jesus";  think  of  both  as  apposite,  and 
yet  feel  and  know  that  Brangwyn  is  himself.  Note,  too,  the  sym- 
bolism in  that  quaint,  uneasy  old  staircase — a  presage  of  the  difficult 
rise  of  Christianity  from  an  obscure  lot  among  humble  poor  folk 
to  the  world  of  competitive  races  and  nations. 


253 


CHAPTER    XIX        BRANGWYN'S    VERSATILITY:    AND 
THE    WORLD'S    DISTRUST    OF    THE    VERSATILE 

t  is  true  to  say  of  Frank  Brangwyn 
that  no  other  artist  of  our  time  has 
^  done  more  in  so  many  ways  and 
with  so  many  differing  motifs, 
methods,  and  materials.  Yet  his 
profuse  handiwork,  his  total  output  as  a  versatile  master,  is  not  mis- 
cellaneous. Here  and  there  its  abounding  life  and  growth  are  un- 
pruned,  but  its  multiform  appeal  hangs  together  ;  the  same  decorative 
purpose  runs  through  it,  and  the  invariable  tokens  of  our  artist's 
presence — "Frank  Brangwyn,  his  marks" — are  evident  everywhere. 
And  let  us  remember  also  that  branching  is  a  natural  element  of 
harmony  when  growth  and  development  are  natural,  unforced,  and 
therefore  spontaneous. 

To  find  a  modern  parallel  to  this  versatility  we  must  recall  to  mind 
the  works  of  Alphonse  Legros,  as  we  have  seen  in  an  early  chapter; 
and  to  find  another  we  must  go  to  the  most  affluent  writer  of  manly 
romance,  the  greater  Dumas,  whose  colonizing  genius  won  from 
history  a  vast  Empire,  and  united  it  to  the  realms  of  enchanted 
books.  Our  modern  Alexander  went  in  search  of  many  risks,  of 
course  :  he  might  have  become  a  miscellany  :  but  his  unrivalled  high 
spirits  never  forsook  him,  and  in  a  thousand  volumes  he  achieved 
his  conquests,  without  defeating  his  unity  and  his  staying  power, 
though  he  employed  little  Maquet  and  others.* 

Sometimes  Dumas  is  variously  good,  at  other  times  he  is  variously 
better,  and  every  now  and  then  he  is  variously  at  his  best;  and  this 
verdict  in  brief  applies  also  to  abounding  Brangwyn.  These  big, 
bold  men  have  turgid  hours  and  days,  of  course,  when  reaction  settles 
into  lees  and  dregs;  but  is  there  anything  bad  in  these  sediments? 
I  believe  not,  as  thought  declines  to  use  the  word  "bad"  when  it 
notes  the  waste  thrown  off  by  agencies  of  abundance.  Rubbish  in 
good  and  great  production,  as  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  teeming  friend- 
ship, is  like  mildew  in  neglected  parts  of  a  fine  old  house:  quite 
natural,  but  misplaced,  and  easy  to  be  cleared  away  by  time  and 
spring  cleaning. 

*  One  day  some  mistake  or  other  was  pointed  out  to  him.  "  Oh  !  This  fault  is  little 
Maquet's,"  he  answered,  "and  next  time  we  meet  I'll  punch  his  head  for  it."  When 
Maquet  attempted  to  score  off  his  own  bat,  he  made  a  duck. 

254 


In  1 910  I  was  conventional  towards  versatility,  fearing  that  it 
might  decline  into  volatile  haphazard,  or  that  it  might  make  far  too 
many  calls  on  Brangwyn's  mind  and  health,  like  tyrannous  interrup- 
tions from  an  importunate  telephone.  I  forgot  that  change  of  work, 
not  overdone,  is  refreshing;  it  prevents  too  much  brooding  over  one 
thing;  and  how  can  artists  do  better  than  choose  hobbies  within  the 
united  states  of  art  ?  After  the  overstrain  ot  huge,  opulent  mural 
paintings,  it  has  relieved  Brangwyn  to  explore  lithography  or  etching, 
or  another  hobby  in  which  art  and  life  can  be  viewed  as  ideal  business 
partners,  life  providing  the  capital  from  age.  to  age,  while  art  has 
created  many  profits  which  have  outlived  Rome,  Greece,  Egypt, 
Assyria,  and  other  perishable  glories. 

But  the  world  never  looks  at  versatility  from  this  rational  standpoint. 
She  wants  a  man  to  do  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again.  Our  own 
age  is  reputed  to  be  pre-eminent  as  an  age  of  specialists;  and  all 
human  effort,  we  are  often  told,  should  get  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
unmellow  accuracy  that  perfected  machines  multiply.  Yes,  but  the 
stepmotherly  old  world  is  a  humbug.  How  often  does  she  speak 
the  truth  accurately  like  that  modernized  bank  clerk  named  the 
calculating  machine  ?  There's  no  reason  to  believe  that  specialism 
is  more  valued  to-day  by  ordinary  persons  than  it  was  in  past  ages. 
Men  of  one  job  apiece  have  ever  been  among  the  world's  favourite 
conventions  :  except  in  politics,  which  have  been  fields  of  mis- 
adventure for  a  great  many  Jacks  of  all  ambitions  who  have  earned 
by  versatile  bungling  both  titles  and  tragedies. 

What  the  world  fears,  and  ever  has  feared — yes,  in  the  arts  as  in 
political  strife — is  versatile  greatness,  which  has  never  seemed  in 
keeping  with  the  mediocrity  of  mankind,  as  versatile  blundering  has 
been.  Shall  we  take  two  examples  .?  First,  then,  the  spirited  and 
wise  novelist  in  Benjamin  Disraeli  caused  the  world  to  be  suspicious 
about  the  abler  statesman  in  the  same  genius;  next,  Leonardo  da  Vinci 
has  not  yet  been  pardoned  by  the  mundane.  "  Why  was  Leonardo 
too  versatile  ?  Why  didn't  he  stick  to  one  thing  .?"  The  mundane 
are  troubled  by  these  questions,  as  if  Leonardo  had  not  answered  them 
in  his  labours.  What  else  could  he  do  with  the  busy  populace 
of  ideas  that  kept  his  wondrous  brain  incessantly  inventive  and 
prophetic  .? 

To  be  versatile,  then,  is  to  give  hostages  to  the  stepmotherly  old 
world.  Many  a  time  it  has  been  said  that  Brangwyn  grows  too 
many  different  crops  in  a  year  on   the   same  field,  or  that   he   has 

255 


too  many  strings  to  his  bow.  Yet  the  answer  to  this  cant  ought  to 
be  plain  for  all  folk  to  see.  In  fields  of  art,  as  in  other  fertile  fields, 
rotation  of  crops  has  been  a  useful  thing;  most  of  the  old  Masters 
were  versatile  ;  and  as  for  the  archery  figure  of  speech,  every  string 
has  its  own  bow,  and  several  bows  and  strings  have  a  necessary  rest 
when  one  bow  and  its  string  are  active  and  enterprising.  Enough 
to  say  that  off  and  on  too  many  arrows  have  been  shot. 
But  this  fact  is  opposed  by  another.  Our  British  distrust  of  useful 
versatility  is  the  main  cause  ot  the  imperfect  sympathy  which 
Brangwyn  has  received  from  his  countrymen.  A  general  liking  for 
versatile  good  work  cannot  come  from  a  nation  that  declined  to 
face  her  sinister  housing  problems  until  she  had  spent  many  thousand 
millions  of  pounds  in  a  long-threatened  war,  for  which  she  made  no 
pre-war  preparations. 

It  is  easy  to  prove  that  Brangwyn,  among  his  own  countrymen,  is 
not  yet  appreciated  as  he  ought  to  be.  Though  he  has  a  fine  follow- 
ing, his  name  is  not  a  household  word,  as  were  the  names  of  several 
Victorians,  and  notably  those  of  Frith,  Millais,  and  Edwin  Landseer. 
As  a  famous  dramatist  said  to  a  friend  of  mine :  "  Brangwyn  is 
scarcely  known  to  the  vast  multitude  that  a  playwright  must  keep 
around  his  writing-table.  A  thousand  pities !  It  would  stir  the 
people  up  if  they  knew  his  manliness  and  loved  his  colour."  And 
what  an  irony  it  is  that  the  one  artist  we  have  who  is  as  tond  of  our 
industrial  handworkers  as  Cottet  and  Simon  are  of  French  fishermen 
and  peasants,  should  be  outside  the  people's  education  ! 
A  contributory  cause  of  this  limited  fame  is  worth  noting.  The 
British  people  like  their  heroes  to  be  tyrannously  evident,  either 
advertised  all  the  year  round  by  newspapers,  or  decorated  with 
honours  and  abundant  ribbons.  A  man  is  certain  to  be  "discovered" 
when  he  is  made  a  lord,  however  obscure  he  may  have  been  as  a 
civilian.  The  more  we  prattle  as  a  nation  about  the  ideal  democrat 
named  Equality,  the  more  we  value  those  external  symbols  of  success 
which  draw  attention  to  Nature's  real  autocrat.  Inequality.  But 
title-hunting  is  a  sport  unattractive  to  shy  men,  and  Brangwyn  made 
no  effort  even  to  enter  the  Royal  Academy  as  an  Associate.  Four- 
teen years  have  gone  by  since  he  became  A.R.A.,  and  yet  he  is  still 
detained  in  the  same  rank  by  wayward  voters  at  elections.  True, 
he  has  sent  only  a  few  pictures  to  Academy  Exhibitions;  but  let  us 
remember  that  his  decorative  paintings,  which  have  occupied  most 
of  his  time,  have  had  their  proper  places  of  exhibition  in  public 

256 


<  o 

o    ,- 


'■•J  - 


•J.  < 
<  <J 


u 


buildings  where  they  are  allies  of  architecture.  Easel  painters  alone 
can  take  always  for  their  guide  that  devotion  to  the  R.A.  shows 
which  Turner  wished  to  see  in  all  Associates  and  Academicians. 
In  1916  a  Frenchman  said  to  me  :  "Though  the  title  'Sir'  is  very 
common,  I  find  that  your  original  artist,  Frank  Hrangwyn,  is  just  a 
simple  Mister  like  myself,  though  he  would  confer  honour  on  a 
higher  title  than  'Sir.'  I  take  this  matter  to  heart.  You  wish  to 
know  why  .?  Well,  Fve  loved  Brangwyn's  work  from  the  days  of 
'The  Funeral  at  Sea'  and  'The  Buccaneers,'  and  Fm  one  of  the 
Frenchmen  who  believe  it  was  Brangwyn,  with  a  few  other  English 
artists,  who  began  the  Entente  Cordiale,  many  a  year  in  advance  of 
King  Edward  and  his  statesmen.  They  were  at  home  in  our  exhi- 
bitions, they  loved  French  art  and  the  French  people,  and  often  they 
received  in  France  a  tervent  encouragement  denied  by  their  own 
country.  Has  Brangwyn  lost  touch  with  this  fact  .?  No.  Believe 
me,  the  set  of  etchings  that  he  gave  to  the  French  people  was 
valued  very  much  as  a  most  gracious  offering  of  sympathy  in  this 
time  of  war.  The  French  do  not  wish  to  be  praised  because  they 
fight  well  for  their  native  land;  but  true  sympathy  is  sweet  to  them, 
particularly  when  it  comes,  not  in  words,  but  in  art  from  a  great 
artist.  How  glad  I  should  be  if  Brangwyn  were  French,  not 
British  !  And  as  these  are  my  teelings  towards  him,  how  can  I  help 
being — shall  I  say  surprised.?  or  is  it  pained.?- — by  the  imperfect 
fame  that  he  has  won  here  in  London  ?  I  call  it  a  fame  in  half- 
tone, with  a  spot  of  sunlight  here 
and  there.  Yes,  and  the  half-tone 
is  surrounded  by  black  shadow. 
Why .?  Some  Englishmen  tell  me  ! 
What  do  they  tell  me?  Bah! 
They  say  that  Brangwyn  is  too 
versatile,  because  those  who  do 
much  in  many  ways  cannot  do 
enough  in  one  way  to  beat  down 
dislike  from  settled  foes  and  to 
attract  neutral  support  from  artists 
in  other  lines.  If  so,  then  art  is 
war,  modern  war,  and  versatility 
in  art  is  to  be  feared  as  the  Boche 
of  artistic  enterprise  and  achieve- 
ment.    A  comic  idea  !     Was  the 


2    L 


257 


versatile  Michelangelo  a  Prussian  of  his  versatile  period  ?  And  if 
Brangwyn  is  too  versatile  for  the  versatility  that  won  your  British 
Empire,  how  much  permanent  support  can  the  versatile  movements 
in  art  and  letters  receive  in  your  country?" 

An  important  question,  indeed  !  To  let  versatility  run  wild  in 
political  follies,  while  we  remain  frost-bound  towards  the  generous 
adventures  that  the  fine  arts  gain  from  versatile  genius,  cannot  be  a 
custom  fit  to  keep  society  and  art  at  all  safe  and  progressive.  Yet 
there  is  no  need  to  be  astonished.  Democracy  at  present  is  a  boiling 
pot  of  party  strife  attended  by  millions  of  apprentice  cooks,  and 
who  can  divine  what  the  cooks  and  their  pot  are  going  to  concoct 
for  our  nation's  future? 

The  fine  arts  have  nothing  wrong  to  do  with  political  strife,  thank 
goodness ;  their  function  is  one  of  amelioration ;  whereas  the  appren- 
tice cooks  are  so  eager  to  be  cocksure  before  they  know  that  they 
look  upon  their  boiling  pot  as  far  and  away  more  important  than 
the  fit  and  thorough  work  named  Art.  Not  yet  have  they  studied 
even  recent  history.  Already  Turner  and  Cotman  are  more  im- 
portant by  far  than  the  party  strife  of  their  period  ;  and  already 
Dickens,  Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Darwin  are  more  important  by  far 
than  Gladstone,  Liverpool,  Canning,  Melbourne,  and  Salisbury. 
However  humble  a  true  artist  may  seem  to  his  generation,  he  may 
outlive  a  type  of  society  many  thousands  of  years,  like  prehistoric 
craftsmen.  Though  we  cannot  see,  yet  we  can  feel,  the  Hundred 
Portals  of  the  Pharaohs.  Always  I  think  of  the  world's  past  drama 
as  an  illimitable  mortuary  built  by  changeful  politics,  through  which 
the  arts  run  as  beautiful  shining  corridors  open  and  free  to  the  solace- 
ment  of  millionfold  ordinary  man. 

Yet  the  stepmotherly  old  world  never  wearies  of  saying  to  each 
new  generation:  "Why  do  you  play  the  fool  with  my  customs  and 
conventions  ?  I  live  in  them,  and  what  right  has  your  inexperience 
to  insult  me  by  wishing  to  alter  themf  You  get  yourself  into  scrapes 
by  hunting  the  horizon,  and  poison  life  with  your  vanity.  Take 
care  !  Any  fool  can  enslave  himself  to  the  present  day  ;  the  wise 
alone  are  free,  for  they  alone  know  that  there  never  has  been  a  great 
movement  which  has  not  drawn  its  inspiration  from  bygone  times. 
Don't  talk  to  me,  then,  about  using  your  minds  without  too  much 
awe  of  authority.      Cant  !      Cant  and  conceit!" 

Of  course,  new  crops  grow  for  ever  on  old  fields,  and  repetition  is  an 
eternal  law  in   all   natural   production  and  reproduction  ;    yet  it  is 

258 


equally  true  that  the  main  function  of  the  human  brain  is — not 
automatic  action  as  in  other  vital  organs,  but — creative  enterprise, 
which  carries  a  just  desire  to  advance  into  a  greater  natural  law  than 
repetition — the  infinite  variation  out  of  which  new  species  emerged 
and  newness  comes  continuously.  What  is  evolution  but  a  vast 
series  of  variated  resurrections,  by  which  base  forms  of  life  have  been 
changed  into  better  forms  ? 

Yet  ordinary  human  nature  has  ever  been  a  foe  to  its  own  welfare. 
Only  a  person  here  and  there  has  trusted  his  mind,  refusing  to  repeat 
stale  old  acts  requiring  no  more  thought  than  he  has  given  to  a  sneeze. 
Most  men  have  shut  themselves  up  in  customs  and  conventions — to 
live  there  as  hermits.  And  note  how  dreadful,  how  unimaginably 
horrible  the  results  have  often  been.  When  Pasteur  and  Lister 
broke  loose  from  arid  medical  conventions  and  began  to  make 
experiments  with  antiseptics  mankind  may  have  been  a  million  years 
old.  Who  can  imagine  how  many  persons,  reckoned  in  millions 
of  millions,  were  slain  by  the  toxins  of  microbes  between  the  Lister- 
Pasteur  awakening  and  man's  advent  from  apelike  ancestry  ?  And 
other  recent  boons  to  the  common  human  lot  have  mocked  all  the 
dead  generations — that  poor  dust,  which  in  the  ages  past  was  man- 
kind interned  bv  customs  and  conventions.  Yet  the  world  distrusts 
versatility  in  a  Brangwyn  or  in  some  other  genius  !  And  the 
Modernists  who  love  it  in  their  own  creeds  or  sects,  however  much 
they  may  hate  it  in  outsiders,  brag  about  progression  as  if  the 
creeping  visitor  named  Progress  needed  trumpets  and  banners  ! 
From  age  to  age  Progress  has  been  a  charity  of  tears  so  long  has  she 
been  kept  away  from  her  duties. 

For  in  every  one  of  us  there  are  two  selves  at  least  :  the  outer  self, 
or  husk-self,  of  convention,  and  the  inner  self  that  becomes  active 
when  we  pass  from  routine  into  a  passion.  Sometimes  these  agencies 
act  together  as  friends  and  allies,  uniting  and  exalting  men  and 
nations  during  a  time  of  peril  ;  and  then  we  learn  that  the  inferior 
self  needs  but  enough  ardour  from  the  better  self  to  be  nobly 
enterprising.  As  for  the  better  self  alone,  unaided  by  some 
custom  and  some  convention,  it  is  apt  to  get  itself  into  scrapes, 
its  character  being  childlike,  wayward,  inconsequent.  Discipline  and 
roughened  experience  do  it  good  :  and  so  the  useful  and  necessary  thing 
is  to  discover  the  means  by  which  it  can  be  ordered  and  not  subdued. 
The  inner  self  is  versatile  in  most  children,  whose  original  questions, 
fancies,  criticisms,  often  do  'ustice  to  the  big  size  of  their  brains. 

259 


Always  in  children  there  is  infinite  variation  until  too  much  custom 
and  too  much  convention  enslave  them  ;  then  they  dwindle  from 
originality  towards  the  dead-level  on  which  their  elders  deliver 
lessons  and  punishments.  If  only  we  elders  used  with  pious  care  the 
i^reat  treasure  of  versatility  with  which  Providence  has  endowed 
childhood !  If  only  we  remembered  that  it  is  ruined  by  too  much 
routine  and  spoilt  by  too  little  !  I  liave  seen  truly  wonderful  brush- 
work  done  by  children  in  our  board  schools,  often  very  small 
children,  but  this  infantile  genius  rarely  outlives  the  early  teens.  In 
a  few  years  gifted  youngsters  are  boy-men  and  girl-women,  eager  to 
he  "  free "  and  to  forget  what  they  have  been  taught,  eager  also 
to  prove  that  they  are  British  by  being  half-hearted  towards  work 
and  whole-hearted  towards  wages. 

Unless  we  wish  to  augment  the  tyranny  of  custom  and  convention, 
in  order  to  make  the  chances  of  truth  and  right  more  unfavourable, 
we  must  learn  as  a  nation  to  pass  from  versatile  muddles  into  versatile 
merits.  Why  should  any  sane  mind  think  that  a  new  baby  art  crying 
outside  the  fortress  of  convention  is  an  abortion  to  be  mocked  ? 
Bacon  says  on  this  point :  "As  the  births  of  living  creatures  at  first 
are  ill  shapen,  so  are  all  innovations,  which  are  the  births  of  time." 
So  a  civilized  people  should  be  as  a  nurse  to  the  versatile ;  and  this 
no  people  can  be  unless  they  divide  customs  and  conventions  into 
two  divisions :  into  those  which  are  permanent,  like  the  height  and 
breadth  of  tables  and  chairs,  and  those  which  are  routines  to  baulk 
thought  and  experiment. 

Would  it  be  useful,  then,  to  have  popular  exercises  in  the  art  of 
innovating  .?  Sports,  games,  courts,  trades,  professions,  without  help 
from  Parliament,  could  set  a  good  example  by  changing  periodically 
their  rules  or  their  customs,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  the  large 
human  brain  is  alive — not  in  amusements  only,  but  also  in  dead- 
earnest  pomps  and  etiquettes.  I  wish,  too,  that  versatility  in  truth- 
telling  could  be  enticed  into  politics  by  granting  titles  to  those 
parties  that  dared  to  break  away  from  cant  and  make-believe,  as 
innovations  of  all  useful  sorts  would  have  a  much  better  chance 
if  our  political  life  could  be  lifted  into  candour.  Have  the  Sir  Con- 
servatives told  more  truths  than  the  Lord  Radicals,  or  have  the  Lord 
Radicals  risen  in  honour  above  the  Sir  Conservatives  .?  The  highest 
title  for  political  truth-speaking  might  well  be  Prince  ;  but  any 
political  campaign  managed  by  craft,  and  not  by  candour,  would 
reduce  to  the  ranks  an  unprincipled  strategist. 

260 


SKKTCH    lOR   A   I'OSTKK:   "  KKIiUILDINt:    I'.KI.C.IUM  ' 


Anyone  who  thinks  thus  of  the  arts — thinks  of  them  socially — 
finds  always  that  they  lead  him — not  into  isles  of  dreams,  not  into 
unsubstantial  fairy  places,  nor  into  sects  where  mutual  admirations 
dwell  like  echoes  in  a  cave,  hut — into  the  vast  human  drama.  All  the 
social  influences  which  have  played  around  Brangwyn,  liarming  him 
sometimes,  and  often  aiding  him,  have  stored  up  in  his  genius  so 
much  of  our  own  age  that  his  life  and  work,  as  1  have  said  before, 
are  allied  with  both  East  and  West  in  our  Empire.  We  go  to  them, 
not  for  the  scholar's  attitude  towards  our  lot,  but  for  the  virility  and 
the  versatility  that  achieve  great  and  enduring  things  in  the  midst 
of  rugged  hindrances  and  many  perils.  And  Brangwyn  has  not 
stopped  growing;  or,  rather,  his  genius  goes  on  adapting  itself  to 
lite  in  the  protean  give  and  take  that  make  art  and  life  changefuHv 
interdependent. 

As  a  rule  development  in  middle  age  is  from  exploring  colonization 
either  towards  or  into  concentration.  Ideas  come  as  single  guests, 
they  do  not  arrive  in  parties;  and  the  rarer  they  are  in  their  un- 
invited friendliness,  the  more  eager  their  welcomer  is  to  grow  all 
that  he  can  get  from  their  appeals  to  his  productivity.  So  he  puts 
into  a  single  idea  as  much  maturing  purpose,  as  much  penetration 
and  breadth  of  vision,  as  he  used  to  divide  among  several  when  he 
enjoyed  the  springtime  of  his  traffic  with  ideas.  If  Brangwyn  is 
not  an  exception  to  this  usual  change  in  middle  age,  his  develop- 
ment during  the  next  few  years  will  be  very  remarkable.  His 
self-criticism,  instead  of  being  like  an  overseer  on  horseback  ranging 
here  and  there  on  an  enormous  ranch,  will  become  more  like  an 
English  farmer  who  has  only  a  good  hundred  acres  to  cultivate  in  the 
most  thorough  manner  possible.  It  will  question  and  cross-question 
many  a  thing  which  in  the  years  gone  by  appeared  to  be  as  inevitably 
right  as  the  gray  brilliance  with  which  Nature  chastens  her  most 
sumptuous  displays  of  colour.  Constable  was  happy  when  he  could 
stand  before  a  six  foot  canvas  without  being  harassed  by  the  forth- 
coming cost  of  its  frame.  Brangwyn  used  to  be  quite  happy  when 
at  work  upon  huge  spreads  of  canvas,  which  were  often  almost  a 
tyranny  in  length  and  breadth  of  surface ;  and  he  is  still  somewhat 
resentful  towards  any  motif  which  invites  him  to  run  a  hundred 
yards,  instead  of  a  Marathon  race.  Does  this  mood  belong  to  early 
manhood,  or  will  it  be  continued  through  the  next  ten  years  .? 
Lucky  is  the  artist  who  can  review  his  past  work  when  he  is  well 
and  strong.      Many  a  one  has  died  too  soon,  like  Girtin  and  Bastien 

261 


Lepage;  and  many  a  one  has  not  seen  until  too  late  that  work  done 
in  early  manhood  is  but  a  preparation,  the  making  of  an  abundant 
manner,  for  hale  middle  age  to  chasten  into  maturity.  The  good 
Gainsborough  is  a  case  in  point.  Like  Brangwyn,  he  indulged  his 
emotional  alertness  and  his  wondrous  facility,  and  achieved  effects 
which  could  not  be  analysed  well  in  terms  of  technique,  so  much 
more  varied  and  commanding  were  they  than  the  simple  and  often 
sketchy  handling  of  his  paint  explained  at  near  range.  Then, 
suddenly,  a  cancer  formed  behind  his  neck,  and  Gainsborough  began 
at  once  to  review  all  his  affairs.  He  pondered  much  over  his  art, 
seeing  a  defect  here  and  there,  and  wishing  that  in  future  works  he 
could  do  greater  things  than  those  by  which  he  would  be  remembered. 
Too  late !  He  died  at  sixty-one,  a  greater  Gainsborough  dying  with 
him,  for  he  had  gratified  his  facility  with  so  much  fervour  that  he 
had  rarely  plumbed  the  deeps  in  his  brave  serene  genius. 
Brangwyn  is  only  fifty-one,  so  we  expect  much  more  from  him; 
not  in  quantity,  but  in  that  essence  of  his  deeper  self  which  the 
concentration  of  middle  age  is  fitted  to  alembicate  from  the  ample 
and  ardent  qualities  exercised  and  ripened  by  his  past  labours.  In 
posters,  for  instance,  he  could  illustrate  a  period  chosen  from  heroic 
English  History;  could  illustrate  it  with  so  much  vim  and  truth 
that  the  whole  Empire  for  a  long  time  would  be  grateful  to  him. 
In  portraiture,  again,  there  is  always  a  wonderful  field  for  concentra- 
tion, and  Brangwyn  as  a  portrait  painter  could  not  fail  to  make  rich 
discoveries.  Most  of  our  portraitists  are  so  very  self-conscious,  or  so 
enthralled  by  their  methods,  that  they  often  paint  almost  as  much 
indiscreet  autobiography  as  discreet  biography.  Only  once  in  a 
way,  by  rare  good  fortune,  do  they  solve  the  most  difficult  problem 
in  their  dramatizing  art:  how  to  reveal  character  as  a  subtle  and 
complex  agency  that  directs  its  painter,  and  not  as  a  thing  that 
painters  can  either  flatter  or  caricature  at  their  ease  and  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  their  idiosyncratic  technique. 

Brangwyn  understands  the  sovereign  first  principle  of  portrait  paint- 
ing, by  which  portraiture  is  turned  into  a  most  perilous  art  in  and  of 
honour.  The  whole  truth,  when  unpleasant,  ought  never  to  be  put 
into  a  portrait  unless  the  sitter  is  a  professional  model,  because  no 
sane  person  commissions  a  portrait  in  order  to  be  made  odious  in  a 
painted  dossier  of  the  worst  in  his  character.  So  an  artist  who 
accepts  money  from  his  sitters  accepts  also  the  first  principle  govern- 
ing his  work.      Instead  of  being  a  private  detective  to  find  out  evils 

262 


in  his  paying  models,  he  must  be  governed  as  a  gentleman  by  moods 
and  aspects  of  the  true  which  are  not  unpleasant  and  libellous. 
Writers  on  art  cannot  speak  too  frankly  on  this  point  of  honour 
when  a  portraitist  forgets  his  position  as  a  paid  craftsman,  and 
betrays  his  models  with  relentless  zeal.  Now  and  then  present-day 
portraiture  is  so  much  like  an  inquisition  that  onlookers  ought  to  be 
angry,  as  they  would  be  if  a  painter  stole  his  sitters'  private  diaries 
and  then  boasted  about  a  shameless  misdeed.  Portraiture  is  not 
raided  enough  by  men  of  Brangwyn's  mark.  We  get  from  it  over- 
much fawning,  sometimes  overmuch  spying,. and  generally  too  much 
technical  self-assurance.  Often  it  brings  paying  models  very  near  to 
that  peculiar  intimacy  which  unites  novelists  to  their  invented 
characters. 

Last  of  all,  to  interpret  faithfully  is  to  prophesy,  since  there  is  in  all 
growth  an  order  that  tells  what  it  is  going  to  do;  and  for  some  time 
Brangwyn  has  given  hints  of  a  desire  to  enjoy  work  less  fatiguing 
than  have  been  his  many  great  adventures  over  very  large  mural 
decorations.  With  this  desire  as  a  motive-power,  how  can  he  keep 
away  from  its  gratification  .?  It  is  likely  to  guide  him,  just  as  his 
growing  distaste  for  the  noise  of  London  has  caused  him  to  buy  in 
Sussex,  at  Ditchling,  a  retreat  as  pleasant  as  it  is  quiet. 
So  in  this  book,  as  in  igio,  a  confident  note  of  expectation  ends  the 
last  page.  Yesterday's  best  work  is  but  a  herald  of  a  better  best,  as 
no  genius  has  reached  its  full  meridian  until  it  has  begun  to  decline. 


INDEX 


WITH    ALL    THE    ETCHINGS,    THEIR    DATES,    SIZES,    ETC.  ;    AND    WITH    ALL    THE 
LITHOGRAPHS    AND    MOST    OF    THE    BOOK.    ILLUSTRATIONS 


Abbey,  E.  A.,  the  late,  R.A.,  his  drawings  after 

Shakespeare,  197. 
Abbey  of  ler  Doest,  Lisseweghe,  Woodcut  10  in 

Brangwyns  Book   of  Belgium.     See   p.  231 

et  seq. 
Abbey   of  St.   Leonard,   Etching  No.   206,   on 

zinc,  23J"  X  29J",  150.  151. 
Abbey  of  P'illers,   Its   Ruins,  Woodcut   35   in 

Brangwyn's  Book  of  Belgium.    See  p.  234. 
Addy,  Sidney  O.,  231. 
Advertisers  and  advertisements,  their  abuses, 

168,  169,  177  ;  why  they  should  be  governed 

by  municipalities  and  taxed,  178. 
^Esthetic    Periods :     the    Pre-Raphaelite,    5  ; 

Plein  Air  and  Realism,  7  ;    Impressionism, 

36,  37,  40  ;   Post-Impressionism,  15,  16,  23  ; 

Intimists,  7,  39  ;   Cubists,  15. 
.(Esthetic  temperament,  51. 
After  Trafalgar,  219. 
Aircraft  and  submarines,  their  future  influence 

on  islands,  206. 
Airvault  Church,  The  Cloisters  of,  Etching  No. 

220,  29I"  X  27J".    On  zinc,  151  ^i  seq.,  153, 

154- 
Albi  Bridges,  Etching  No.  221,  19/77"  ^  24i""o"- 

On  zinc,  114. 
Albi,  The  Caravan,  Etching  No.    169.      1910. 

On  zinc,  14^"  x  ily".    Etched  out  of  doors, 

94- 

Alcantara,     The    Bridge    at,    near    Taormina, 

Etching  No.  156.     1910.     On  zinc,  i6j"  x 

13".       Etched    out    of    doors;     125    proofs 

published.     Seep.  113. 
American  Collector  on  Brangwyn's  Art,   i   et 

seq. 
An  Italian  Water  Festival.  219. 
Ancestors,  Our  :    are  they  to  be  regarded  as 

our  superiors  ?    141. 
Angelico,  Fra,  56. 
Antagonism   of  torrid  sunlight   against   many 

solid  substances,  40. 
Antwerp,  Across  the  Scheldt,  Woodcut   31   in 

Brangwyn's  Belgium. 
Antwerp,  Old  Street,  Woodcut  29  in  Brangwyn's 

Belgium,  231. 
Antwerp,  The  Calvary  of  St.  Paul,  Woodcut  32 

in  Brangwyn's  Belgium,  230. 

2    M 


Antwerp :  The  Last  Boat,  Brangwyn's  W'ar 
Poster,  194. 

Apse  of  Duomo,  Messina,  Etching  No.  148. 
19 10.  On  zinc,  29 J"  x  23!".  Etched  from 
a  water-colour  made  on  the  spot.     See  p. 

155- 
Apse  of  St.  Walburge  at  Fumes,  Etching  No. 
120.      1908.     On  zinc,   17'  x  15'.     Etched 
on  the   spot ;     100   proofs  published.      Sec 

PP-  93-  94- 
Aquatint  and  etching,  69  and  footnote,  79. 

Arabs  on  Shore,  221. 

Arab  Fruit-carriers,  F.  B.  Lithograph,  129. 

Architecture,    75,    76,   92,   93,   94 ;     see   also 

Chapter  X. 
Architecture,  colour  in,  175,  176. 
Architecture,  Triangular,  23 1. 
Armed  strife  and  Art,  72  et  seq. 
Art,  the  word  "  Art,"  160. 
Art's  attributes,  those  imported  by  onlookers 

into  works  of  art,  96,  97,  146. 
Art  and  children's  education,  96,  197,  198. 
Art  and  Conservatism,  I  et  seq. 
Art  and  Criticism,  6  et  seq. ;   see  Introductory 

as  a  whole. 
Art  and  Industrialism,  68,  119  et  seq.  ;  121  et 

seq  ;  see  also  Chapters  IX  and  X  and  XI. 
Art  and  Interpretation,  9  ;   see  also  Chapter  I. 
Art,  Life,  and  Nature,  18,  19,  32,  33,  40,  41,  53, 

58  ;    see  also  Chapter  III  ;    96  et  seq.  ;    119 

et  seq.  ;    121  et  seq.  ;    see  also  Chapters  IX 

and  X  and  XI  ;   240. 
Art  and  Popular  Education,  52,  53,  96,  140  ei 

seq.,  149  ;   see  also  Chapter  XI. 
Art  and  Posters,  63. 
Art  and  strife,  72  et  seq.,  240. 
Art  and  Town  Improvements  ;    see  Chapter 

XII. 
Art,  Decorative,  51,  107,  108. 
Art,  Emotion  in,  16  et  seq.  ;  see  also  Chapter  I. 
Art,  frequent  preference  of  English  people  for 

feminine  qualities  in  art,  5. 
Art,  humour  in  etchings,  94,  132,  150. 
Art,  in  its  Relation  to  l.ife  and  Nature,  32,  33, 

40,  41,  58  ;  see  also  Chapter  III  ;  96  et  seq.  ; 

iig  et  seq.  ;    121  et  seq.  ;   see  also  Chapters 

IX  and  X  ;  240. 

26  s 


Art,    interpretation   z'crsus   criticism,   9 ;     see 

also  Chapter  I  ;    152. 
Art,  literary  appeal  in,  96,  97. 
Art,  masculine,  feminine  and  neuter,  5,  37,  57. 
Art,  mural,  51,  108. 

Art,   Old  versus  New   Movements,   I   et  scq., 
141. 

Art,  Oriental  Influences  in  Modern  Schools, 
39  ;    see  under  EasUrnism. 

Art,  prettiness  in,  150,  185. 

Art,  religious  art,  16,  18,  25  et  seq.,  33,  (>(i. 

Art,  sex  and,  5,  37  and  footnote,  58. 

Art,  the  quality  of  grandeur,  \o\ ;  often 
absent  in  British  art  and  life,  105. 

Art,  versatility  in,  3,  50,  143. 

Artist,  what  he  is,  5  et  seq.  ;   16,  17. 

Artists,  British,  5,  31,  149  ;  scorned  during 
the  War,  170,  171  ;  why  they  should  help 
to  revive  Inns,  207  et  seq.  ;  why  they 
should  be  useful  to  Labour  Halls  and  Sea- 
men's Clubs  ;    see  Chapter  XIV. 

Artists,  French,  7,  15,  149. 

Assist,  Etching  No.  17.  1903.  On  zinc,  15J"  x 
12".  Two  states.  First  state  in  60  proofs 
has  no  sky  ;  second  state  in  10  proofs  has  a 
sky  toned  with  dry-point.     See  pp.  82,  91. 

Assisi,  A  Beggar  at.  No.  15.  1903.  Aquatint, 
on  zinc,  8V'  :<  10";  30  proofs  published. 
See  p.  83. 

Assisi,  A  gate  at.  Etching  No.  16.  1903.  On 
zinc,  17"  X  13".    See  p.  83. 

At  Neuve  Chafelle,  Brangwj-n  War  Poster, 
194. 

Atmosphere,  20. 

At  the  city  gates,  222. 

Audenaerde,  Woodcut  18  in  Brangwyn's  Book 
of  Belgium. 

Auto-academic,  The,  or  the  act  of  copying 
one's  own  work,  15. 


Bacon,  Francis,  Baron  Verulam,  Viscount  St. 

Albans,  1561-1626,  p.  42. 
Back  Street,  A,  in  Naples,  Etching  No.   191. 

1912.    On  zinc,  gt"  x  8".     Etched  out   of 

doors.    See  p.  157. 
Backwardness  of  British  self-content,  142. 
Bagpipe,  Man  with  a.  Etching  No.  134.     1908. 

On  zinc,  8"  x  6".  Etched  at  a  Fair  in  Furnes. 

Two  men  and  a  group  of  children  listen. 
Bagpiping,    Brangwyn    Lithograph,   pubUshed 

in  Germinal,  Paris. 
Balcony  in  Messina,  Etching  No.  146.     1910. 

On  copper,  4"  x  5^".    Etched  on  the  spot. 

266 


Ballisteria,  A,  at  Incheville,  Etching  No.  141. 
1909.    On  zinc,  10"  -:  8J".    See  p.  131. 

Baptism  of  Christ,  F.  B.'s  oil-painting,  67. 

Barge,  The,  Evening,  by  Legros,  68. 

Bargebuilders,  Brentford,  Etching  No.  20. 
1904.  On  zinc,  13I"  X33I".  Two  states 
Trial  state  in  8  impressions  is  a  pure  etching 
with  a  plain  sky.  Published  state  is  deepened 
and  aquatinted  all  over  with  a  good  grain. 
See  p.  118. 

Bargebuilders,  Hammersmith,  Etching  No.  28. 

1904.  On  copper,  3f"  x  4J-".  Published  in 
"  Frank  Brangwyn  and  His  Work  to  1910," 
by  Walter  Shaw  Sparrow.  Kegan  Paul  and 
Co. 

Barges  at  Bruges,  Etching  No.  60.  1906.  On 
zinc,  15"  X  14";  100  proofs  published. 
Etched  on  the  spot.     See  p.  1 18. 

Barges  at  Nieuport,  Etching  No.  122.  1908. 
On  copper,  j^"  x  4".  Etched  out  of  doors 
near  Ostend.     See  p.  119. 

Barkstrippers  at  Port  Mellan,  Cornwall,  Etching 
No.  8.  1903.  On  zinc,  16"  ■;  13'.  An  oil- 
painting  of  this  subject  was  ejchibited  in 
1888  at  the  R.A.     See  p.  82. 

Barnard  Castle,  Etching  No.  53.  1905.  On 
zinc,  12"  X  141".  Published  at  Vienna  in 
Gesellschaft  fiir  vervieljiiltigendc  Kunst. 
Only  3  English  impressions  are  given  in  the 
Fine  Art  Society's  Catalogue.     See  p.  93. 

Barnard    Castle    Bridge,    Aquatint,    No.    56. 

1905.  On  zinc,  14"  x  10 J",  112. 
Barnard    Castle    Bridge,    Etching    No.     102. 

1907.    On  zinc,  22"  x  17J".    Etched  from  a 

pencil  drawing;    loo  proofs  published,  112. 
Barnard  Castle,  The  Maple  Tree,  Etching  No. 

55.    1905.    On  copper,  14^"  <  io|".   Etched 

on  the  spot,  89. 
Barrel,  Man  with,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 
Basket-makers,  The,  F.  B.  war  cartoon,  196. 
Bastien-Lepage,  Jules,  and  Plein  Air,  7  ;    his 

early  death,  262. 
Baths  and  Progress,  167. 
Baudry,  his  decorative  paintings,  35  footnote. 
Bauer,  his  etchings  of  architecture,  149. 
Beach  at  Funchal,  Madeira,  The,  water-colour, 

237. 
Beaconsfield,  21,  172,  200,  207,  249,  255. 
Bear-leaders  in  a  Courtyard  of  an  Inn  at  Cirq- 

la-Popie  in  France,  Etching  No.  177.     1911. 

On  zinc,   14!"  x  11'.    Etched  from  nature. 

See  p.  94. 
Beatty,  Sir  David,  his  appeal  from  a  poster, 

168,  189. 


N 


Beethoven,  l6. 

Beggar,  A,  at  Assist,  see  under  Assisi. 

Beggar,  A  Blind,  Etching  No.  3.  igoo.  Head 
and  shoulders,  on  zinc,  4"  ;■•  43"  ;  10  proofs 
taken. 

Beggar  Musician,  A,  Etching  No.  187.  191 1. 
On  zinc,  6i"  x  8t".  Etched  out  of  doors 
in  London.  Characteristic  and  well  felt. 
100  proofs  published,  94. 

Beggars,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 

Beggars  I,  Etching  No.  54.  1905.  On  copper, 
5^^"  X  8".    A  sketch  full  of  character. 

Beggars  II, Yxchmg'Ho.Cfq.  1907.  On  copper, 
I3t'  X  10".  This  frieze  of  four  mendicants, 
with  three  hinted  beyond  them,  exists  in 
two  proofs  only.  The  plate  was  cut  into 
Beggars  III  and  Beggars  IV,  Etchings  100 
and  loi,  the  former  5J"  >•  10",  the  latter 
Sf"  X  10". 

Belfry  and  Town  Hall  at  Ghent,  Woodcut  24 
in  Brangwyn's  Belgium,  230. 

Belfry  and  Cathedral  at  Tournay,  Woodcut  47 
in  Brangwyn's  Belgium. 

■'  Belgium,"  Brangwyn's,  with  text  by  Hugh 
Stokes,  1916,  227  et  seq. 

Belloc,  Hilaire,  203. 

Bentham,  Mill  and  Co.,  53. 

Berghem,  50. 

Bias  in  art,  has  dangers  of  its  own  as  well  as 
great  advantages,  137. 

Big  and  little  plates  in  etching,  44-48. 

Birds  in  etched  work,  86. 

Black  Mill  at  Winchelsea,  The,  Etching  No. 
135;  1908.  On  zinc,  26J"  X  22|".  A  Trial 
State  in  Two  Impressions,  and  the  Published 
State  with  a  more  munificent  sunset.  See 
pp.  101-102. 

Blacksmiths,  Etching  No.  94.  1907.  On  zinc, 
3 if"  X  22".  Done  from  the  life  without 
help  from  a  preliminary  sketch,  131. 

Blake  at  Santa  Cruz,  F.  B.  marine  picture,  214. 

Blake,  WiUiam,  Engraver,  Painter,  Poet,  1757- 
1827,  134. 

Blery,  Eugene,  Meryon's  master,  78. 

Blind  Basketmakers,  Brangwyn  War  Cartoon, 
Avenue  Press,  London,  W.C. 

Blind  Beggar,  Head  of  a,  79,  81. 

Board  Schools  and  the  educative  value  of 
posters  and  coloured  prints,  197. 

Board  of  True  Artists  for  London,  172,  173. 

Boatbuilders,  Venice,  Etching  No.  112.  1907. 
On  zinc,  25J"  x  20J".  A  First  Trial  State 
in  Two  Impressions,  and  the  Published  State 
in  100  proofs,  118,  119. 


Boatmen,  Some,  hauling  at  a  Rope,  Etching  No. 
77.  1906.  On  zinc,  19"  x  i8i".  Etched 
direct  from  the  life  and  showing  two  stal- 
wart bargees  in  sabots  pulling  at  a  rope, 
132. 

Boats,  I'cnetiaji,  Etching  No.  1 16.  1908.  On 
zinc,  gi"  x  6i".  .A  rapid  note  done  out  of 
doors ;  beyond  the  boats,  a  steep  bridge  and 
some  corner  houses ;   plain  sky. 

Boatyard,  A,  at  Venice,  Etching  No.  113. 
1907.  On  zinc,  27I"  x  19J".  Companion 
piece  to  No.  112.  A  workman  in  foreground 
moves  a  bgnt  and  primitive  ladder  ;  behind 
him  are  two  men,  one  of  whom  drinks  from 
a  big  pot ;  behind  these  men  is  a  boat 
streaked  in  one  place  by  a  splash  of  sun- 
light. Four  figures  look  on  close  to  the 
boat's  nose  ;  a  background  of  houses  with 
high,  cowled  chimneys,  and  a  horizontal  line 
of  other  buildings  broken  by  a  gabled  pro- 
jection. In  the  First  State,  issued  in  30 
Impressions,  the  sky  is  plain  ;  it  is  toned  in 
the  Second  State. 

Boissarde  de  Boisdenier's  iine  battle  picture,. 

72,  73- 
Bone,  Muirhead,  127,  149. 
Bonhomme,  French  lithographer  and  painter 

of  industrial  subjects,  125. 
Bonington,  R.  P.,  1801-1828,  244. 
"  Book  of  Bridges,"  by  Walter  Shaw  Sparrow, 

pictures  by  Brangwyn,  1915,  224. 
Book  Illustration  and  Decoration,  see  Chapter 

XV. 
Bookplate  for  Victor  Singer,  Etching  No.   81. 

1906.  On  copper,  5 J"  x  6J".  Out  of  doors 
men  carry  books,  and  another  man,  nude  to 
his  waist,  bears  a  plate  for  the  inscription. 

Bookplate,  Etching  No.  84.  1906.  On  copper, 
5"  X  6^".  Above  an  Italian  city  a  boy  plays, 
on  cymbals ;  he  wears  a  chaplet  on  his 
head. 

Bookplate,  Etching  No.  86.  1906.  On  copper, 
5"  X  6J".  .A  scroll  bears  the  inscription 
"  Ex-Libris,  Frank  Newbolt  "  ;  and  below 
it  is  a  Tudor  ship  full-rigged  and  patterned 
against  a  dark  sky.  In  the  right-hand  corner 
heraldry  is  tokened  by  a  shield. 

Bookplates  by  Brangwyn,  224  et  seq.  See  also 
the  examples  reproduced  in  this  book. 

Bookplates,  the  Art  of  Designing,  Some  hints 
on,  225,  226. 

Bootmakers    at    Alontreuil,    Etching    No.    92. 

1907.  On  zinc,  2ii"  x  17J".    See  p.  130. 
Bosse,  .A.braham,  on  etching,  46. 

267 


Bottle-washers,  in  a  Wine- faker's  Place  of  Busi- 
ness at  Bruges,  Etching  No.  6i.  1906. 
On  zinc,  15!"  x  14".  Etched  from  life, 
128. 

Bouillon,  Chateau  de.  Woodcut  45  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

Box,  Man  carrying  a,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

Boxes,  Men  unloading,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

Boxes,  Unpacking  Orange,  Brangw)'n  litho- 
graph. 

Boy  with  a  gourd,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

Boys  flaying  Music,  Etching  No.  39.  1904. 
On  copper,  4"  x  5yV'-  Two  hooded  boys, 
one  playing  a  viol  and  one  a  mandoline. 
Idea  for  a  Christmas  card.  Only  two 
impressions  were  taken. 

Brabazon,  H.  B.,  The  late,  Water-colour 
Painter,  died  near  Battle  in  1906,  aged  84, 
235,  244. 

Brangwyn,  Frank,  birthplace,  34  ;  art  educa- 
tion, 35,  36-38  ;  two  or  three  defects  come 
from  his  wandering  studies,  136,  137;  his 
foes,  3  ;  characteristics,  34,  40,  41,  42,  50, 
51,  52,  53,  58,  61  et  scq.,  65,  68,  69,  70-72, 
loq  et  seq.,  143,  145,  148,  183,  208,  209,  210, 
220,  256  ;  artistic  forerunners  and  affinities, 
35.  39.  47>  56,  see  also  Chapter  III  ;  73,  138, 
242  et  seq.  ;  his  genius,  its  masculinity,  5  ; 
represents  the  East  and  the  West  in  our 
Empire,  5  ;  his  religious  work,  16,  27  et  seq., 
33;  as  a  draughtsman,  33,  137,  138,  148, 
157,  208,  209,  251  et  seq.  ;  his  intuition,  35, 
36 ;  the  female  qualities  in  genius  are 
dormant  in  F.  B.'s  work,  37  ;  his  knowledge 
of  the  sea,  37  et  seq.,  62,  69,  70,  117,  204  et 
seq.,  217  et  seq.  ;  his  Easternism,  38,  39, 
183,  220,  221  ;  his  chosen  limits,  41,  107 
et  seq.  ;  opponents  of  his  big  plates,  see 
Chapter  II ;  his  attitude  towards  printing, 
48  et  seq.,  see  also  under  Printing  ;  painterly 
qualities  in  his  etchings  and  his  drawings, 
50  et  seq.,  79,  251  ;  he  represents  the  spirit 
of  our  age,  53  ^i  seq.,  58  ;  parallel  between 
him  and  Legros,  see  Chapter  III  ;  his  fond- 
ness for  waifs  and  strays,  63,  68  ;  not  at 
ease  in  most  of  his  small  etchings,  80  ei  seq., 
82  ;  his  decorative  qualities,  107  et  seq.  ; 
industrialism,  his  attitude  towards  it,  119 
et  seq.,  121,  122,  see  Chapters  VIII  and  IX 
and  XI  ;  colour  in  his  posters,  181-183  ;  j 
considered  in  relation  to  National  Welfare, 
see  Chapters  XIII  and  XIV ;  his  book  j 
illustrations,  see  Chapter  XV ;  his  water-  1 
colours,  see  Chapter  XVII.  j 

268 


Breaking  Up  H.M.S.  Hannibal,  Etching  No. 
36.  1904.  On  zinc,  24^^"  x  igV.  From  a 
drawing  made  at  Charlton,  Woolwich,  69, 
124. 

Breaking  Up  The  Caledonia,  Etching  No.  78. 
1906.    On  zinc,  31I-"  X24J",  69,  124. 

Breaking  Up  H.M.S.  Duncan,  Etching  No. 
193.  1912.  On  zinc,  32^"  x  2l|"  ;  125 
proofs  pubHshed.  Etched  on  the  spot  at 
Woolwich  in  Castle's  Yard,  41,  70,  124. 

Breaking  Up  The  Britannia,  F.  B.  Etching,  un- 
catalogued,  70,  125. 

Brentford,  Bargebuilders,  see  under  Barge- 
builders. 

Brentford  Bridge,  Etching  No.  23.  1904.  On 
zinc,  l6|"  X  13^"  ;  etched  out  of  doors. 
Trial  State  of  Two  Impressions  and  the 
PubHshed  State,  no,  in,  112,  143. 

Brentford,  The  Tree,  Etching  No.  18.  1903. 
On  zinc,  13"  x  16";  a  Trial  State  of  the 
Impressions  and  the  Published  State. 

Brentford  Watermill,  Etching  No.  21.  1904. 
On  zinc,  12"  X12'';  very  scarce,  only  15  proofs 
published.    Etched  on  the  spot,  103,  140. 

Breughel,  the  eldest,  125,  139. 

Brewery,  A,  at  Bruges,  Etching  No.  66.  1906. 
On  zinc,  l8J-"  x  20|-"  :  etched  on  the  spot, 
n8. 

Brewery,  A,  at  Bruges,  II,  Etching  No.  67. 
1906.  On  copper,  8"  x  12" ;  100  proofs 
published  ;  etched  on  the  spot,  118. 

Brickmakers,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 

Brickmakers,  Etching  No.  38.  1904.  On  zinc, 
22|-"  x  I9|-'' ;  from  a  drawing  made  at 
Wormwood  Scrubbs,  127. 

Bricks,  Unloading,  at  Ghent,  Etching  No.  140. 
1909.  On  zinc,  26J"  x  iz^"  ;  from  a  draw- 
ing ;  a  Trial  State  of  Five  Impressions  and 
the  Published  State  of  150  proofs. 

Bridge,  Barnard  Castle,  Aquatint,  see  under 
Barnard  Castle. 

Bridge,  Barnard  Castle,  Etching,  see  under 
Barnard  Castle. 

Bridge  at  Alcantara,  Etching,  see  under 
Alcantara. 

Bridge,  A,  at  Bruges,  Etching  No.  166.  1910. 
On  zinc,  6l"  x  5I"  ;  etched  on  the  spot ; 
100  proofs  published,  113. 

Bridge  I,  London,  Etching  No.  5.  1901.  On 
copper,  1 1  J"  X  IlJ^";  a  Trial  State  of  Six 
Proofs  in  outline,  and  a  Second  State  of 
One  Proof  only  ;  then  the  copper  was  cut 
and  a  part  of  it  became  Etching  No.  50, 
Fishmongers''  Hall,  83,  104,  105. 


Bridge  II,  London,  Etching  No.  7.  1903.  On. 
copper,  21J"  X  16J"  ;  a  Trial  State  in  out- 
line, One  Impression  ;  a  Second  State  in 
Five  Impressions  ;  a  Third  State  in  35 
proofs,  and  the  Published  State,  106,  107. 

Bridge  III,  London,  Etching  No.  27.  1904. 
On  copper,  21"  x  16"  ;  taken  from  a  wharf 
below,  107. 

Bridge,  London,  On,  Etching  No.  22.  1904. 
On  copper,  5"  x  4"  ;  a  lively  sketch  done 
out  of  doors,  looking  from  the  bridge 
towards  the  tower  of  St.  Magnus  and  Fish- 
mongers' Hall.    Good  pointwork  in  the  sky. 

Bridge,  Old  Kezv,  Etching  No.  51.  1 904.  On 
zinc,  15^-"  X   13"  ;   etched  on  the  spot. 

Bridge  over  the  Tarn,  Etching  No.  180.  191 1. 
On  zinc,  6^"  x  5 J"  ;    etched  on  the  spot. 

Bridge  at  Cahors,  Etching  No.  189.%  1911.  Le 
Pont  Valentre  ;  on  copper,  gj-"  x  6|-" ; 
published  in  "  La  Revue  de  I'Art  Moderne." 

Bridge  at  Cahors,  Valentre,  Etching  No.  178. 
1911.  On  zinc,  32"  x  2i|"  ;  from  a  water- 
colour  ;  First  State  100  proofs.  Second  State 
25  proofs. 

Bridge  of  Sighs,  Fenice,  Etching  No.  181.  191 1 . 
On  zinc,  17I"  x  27!"  ;  etched  from  a  draw- 
ing ;  100  proofs  published  and  two  later 
impressions  with  dry-point  work  added  to 
the  sky,  115,  146,  158. 

Bridge,  Tower,  London,  Brangwyn  lithograph, 
and  a  pastel  also. 

Bridge,  .1,  at  Toledo,  uncatalogued  Etching,  on 
zinc,  20y''|T-"  X  23!^}". 

Bridge  Builders,  Etching  No.  37.  1904.  On 
zinc,  24 J-"  X  19J"  ;  really  the  construction 
of  an  iron  landing-stage  just  below  Green- 
wich Hospital  for  the  unloading  of  coal, 
143. 

Bridges,  mediaeval,  1 1 2. 

Bridges,  Roman,  104,  105. 

Bridges,  A  Book  oj,  by  Frank  Brangwyn  and 
Walter  Shaw  Sparrow  ;  36  plates  in  colour 
and  36  fine  drawings.  John  Lane.  See 
p.  224. 

Britain's  Call  to  Arms,  Brangwyn  War  Poster, 

?94- 

British  Home  Life,  it  needs  many  improve- 
ments, 200. 

British  public,  its  sentimentality,  64. 

British  slackness,  142  ;  its  need  of  imperative 
discipline,  142  ;  its  fondness  for  sentimental 
"  sensations,"  149. 

British  Troops  occupy  Dixinude,  Brangwyn  War 
Poster,  190. 


I  British  Troops  at  Tpres,  Brangwyn  War  Poster, 
194. 

British  Wounded  in  the  Trenches,  two  woodcuts 
in  Brangwyn's  "At  the  Front  and  at  the 
Base,"  published  by  the  Fine  Art  Society, 
London,  in  191 5,  and  containing  six  signed 
proofs  in  a  portfolio,  190  footnote. 

Brobdingnag  of  industrial  machines,  with  men 
as  LiUiputians,  119,  120,  121,  122,  123,  124, 
125  et  seq. 

Brock,  A.  Glutton,  41  footnote,  160,  163. 

Broil  Toren,  The,  at  Courtray,  Woodcut  20  in 
Brangwyn's  Belgium,  230. 

Brown,  Ford  Madox,  1821-1893,  213,218,244. 

Browning,  Robert,  on  truth-seeking,  6  foot- 
note ;  on  taste,  56  ;  "  who  keeps  one  end 
in  view,  makes  all  things  serve,"  1 39  ;  on 
art,  186. 

Browning,  R.  B.,  and  black  pigs,  71,  72. 

Browning's  House  at  Fenice,  Etching  No.  197. 
1912.  On  zinc,  18"  x  27!"  ;  etched  from  a 
water-colour;  125  proofs  published.  A 
happy  picture  of  the  Palazzo  Resonica,  with 
gondolas  in  the  foreground,  and  on  our 
right  hand  the  canal  in  perspective.  More 
foreground  would  be  welcome. 

Bruges,  Church  of  the  Jerusalem,  Woodcut  13 
in  Brangwyn's  Belgium. 

Bruges,  A  Farm  near.  Woodcut  5  in  Brangwyn's 
Belgium. 

Bruges  Market  Place,  Woodcut  7  in  Brangwyn's 
turn. 


Bruges,  Pont  des  Baudets,  Woodcut  8  in  Brang- 
wyn's Belgium. 

Bruges,  Ouai  Vert,  Woodcut  9  in  Brangwyn's 
Belgium. 

Bruges,  Windmills,  Woodcut  12  in  Brangwyn's 
Belgium. 

Bruges,  Barges,  see  Barges,  Bruges. 

Bruges,  Brewery  I,  see  Brewery  I,  Bruges. 

Bruges,  Brewery  11,  see  Brewery  II,  Bruges. 

Bruges,  Bridge,  see  Bridge,  A,  at  Bruges. 

Bruges,  Entrance  to  a  Canal,  see  Entrance  to  a 
Canal. 

Bruges,  Meat  Market,  see  Meat  Market,  Bruges. 

Bruges,  Old  Women,  see  Old  Women  at  Bruges, 
66,  68. 

Bruges,  Porte  de  Gand,  see  Porte  de  Gand, 
Bruges. 

Bruges,  Porte  St.  Croix,  sec  Porte  St.  Croix, 
Bruges. 

Bruges,  Roundabout,  see  Roundabout,  Bruges. 

Bruges,  Windmills,  see  Windmills,  Bruges,  etch- 
ing and  lithograph. 

269 


Brunswick,     The,     caught    Anchors    with    the 

Enemy,  Brangwyn  painting,  204. 
Brush   Drawings  and  Woodcuts,  see  Chapter 

XVI. 
Brussels,  Grand  Place,  Woodcut  34  in  F.  B.'s 

Belgium. 
Buccaneers,    The,   Oil-painting,    1893,    38,    39, 

194,  215,  229. 
Building   adventures    by   Act   of   Parliament, 

Beaconsfield's  ridicule,  249. 
Building  a  Frigate,  219. 

Building  the  New  Bridge  at  Mantauhan,  Etch- 
ing  No.    221,   on  zinc,    28f"  x   23J",   123, 

127. 
Building  the  New  Victoria  and  Albert  Museum, 

Etching  No.  52.    1904.    Onzinc,  24"  xi9f"  ; 

etched  from  a  drawing.     Sir  Aston  Webb 

completed  this  building  between  May,  1899, 

and  January,  1909,  128. 
Building  a  Ship,  Etching  No.  195.     1912.    On 

zinc,  35J"  X27J";    etched  from  a  drawing; 

a  First  Trial  State  of  Two  Impressions  and 

the  PubHshed  State,  44,  1 23,  1 58. 
Building  a  Ship,  F.  B.  woodcut  in  Verhaeren's 

poems,  226. 
Bunbury,  213. 

Burne-Jones,  Sir  Edward,  1833-1898,  5,  213. 
Butcher's  Shop,  Wormwood  Scrubbs,  Etching  No. 

46.     1904.     On  zinc,  19I"  xi8J",  93. 
Butin,  73. 


Cap,  A,  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  95.  1907. 
A  sketch  from  life,  on  copper,  4"  x  6",  show- 
ing two  women  outside  a  cafe,  one  seated  at 
a  table,  while  the  other  in  shadow  turns 
towards  her.  Beyond  them,  at  another  table, 
two  men  discuss  their  affairs. 

Cafe,  A,  at  Fumes,  Etching  No.  125.  1908. 
On  copper,  10"  x  14"  ;  a  pretty  glimpse  of 
the  town  framed  by  street  architecture  adds 
the  charm  of  perspective  to  this  croquis  of 
outdoor  cafe  life. 

Caje,  A,  at  Cahors,  Etching  No.  174.  igil. 
On  zinc,  10"  x  8"  ;  a  rustic  place  with  a 
charming  balcony  and  a  curved  tree  ;  women 
and  children,  and  gesticulation  from  a  man 
of  nerves,  94. 

Cafe,  A,  at  Tours,  Etching  No.  205,  not  yet 
catalogued,  157. 

Cahors,  Valentre  Bridge,  Etching  No.  189. 
1911.  On  copper,  <)\"  x6|";  published  in 
"  La  Revue  de  I'Art  Moderne "  with  an 
article  by  G.  Sorbier. 


Cahors,  Valentre  Bridge,  Etching  No.  178. 
191 1.  From  a  water-colour,  on  zinc,  32"  x 
21^"  ;  100  proofs  in  the  First  State  and 
25  proofs  in  the  Second  State,  where  strong 
light  beats  upon  the  piers  and  a  dark  sky 
displaces  a  light  one. 

Cahors,  Cloisters  of  the  Cathedral,  Etching  No. 
186.  1911.  A  closely  handled  outdoor 
sketch  on  zinc,  with  men  at  work  completing 
the  old  architecture,  llV  x   14^". 

Cahors,  A  Cafe  at,  see  under  Cafe. 

Cahors,  A  Door  at,  see  under  Door. 

Caldecott,  Randolph,  1846-1886,  213. 

Caledonia,  Breaking  Up  the,  Brangwyn  litho- 
graph ;    published  in  The  Studio,  Feb.,  1914. 

Caledonia,  Breaking  Up  the.  Etching  No.  78. 
1906.     On  zinc,  31I"  x  21J". 

Caliban,  18,  133,  134. 

Calvary  of  St.  Paul,  Antwerp,  Woodcut  32  in 
F.  B.'s  Belgium,  230. 

Cameron,  D   Y.,  149. 

CaJial  at  Hesdin,  Etching  No.  40.  1904.  On 
copper,  14!"  X  15^"  ;  a  pleasant  nook  of 
rustic  architecture. 

Canal,  Entrance  to  a,  at  Bruges,  with  trees, 
some  figures,  and  a  row  of  barges  ;  on  zinc, 
16"  X    II". 

Canal  at  Dixmude,  Etching  No.  129.  1908. 
An  outdoor  sketch  on  zinc,  9"  x  7",  with  a 
criss-cross  of  logs  in  the  foreground  and  a 
cluster  of  white-faced  cottages  across  the 
water. 

Canal  in  Venice,  Etching  No.  155.  1910.  On 
zinc,  8|"  X  6f"  ;  a  special  illustration  in  the 
Edition  de  Luxe  of  "  Frank  Brangwyn  and 
his  Work,"  by  Walter  Shaw  Sparrow.  Kegan 
Paul,  Trench  and  Co.,  1910. 

Cannon  Street  Railway  Station  and  Bridge, 
water-colour,  244. 

Cannon  Street  Railway  Station  and  Bridge, 
Etching  No.  188.  1911.  On  zinc,  29"  x 
28"  ;   from  a  water-colour,  133. 

Camion  Street  Railway  Station,  Inside :  the 
Hop-pickers,  the  largest  of  F.  B.'s  etched 
plates,  recent  and  uncatalogued,  133. 

Caravan,  A,  at  Albi,  Etching  169.  1910.  An 
outdoor  sketch  of  popular  life,  with  a  show- 
man and  his  van  and  bear,  a  bridge  in  the 
background  ;    on  zinc,  14I"  x   11 J-",  94. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  55. 

Cartoons,  Brangwyn's,  their  character,  208, 
209,  210. 

Castello  della  Ziz,a,  Palermo,  Etching  No.  30 
1904.    On  zinc,  19'  x  18",  92,  143. 


270 


Castle  on  Fire,  F.  B.  woodcut  in  Verhaeren's 

Les  Villes  Tentaculaires. 
Castle  of  the  Counts,   Ghent,  Woodcut   23   in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium,  see  Chapter  XV'I. 
Cathedral  and  Belfry  at  Toiirnay,  Woodcut  47 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium,  228. 
Cathedral  of  St.  Romhaut,  Malines,  Woodcut 

27  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium,  232. 
Cathedral  of  St.  Peter  at  Lowjain,  Woodcut  38 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium,  230. 
Cemetery,  A  Turkish,  Etching  No.  31.     1904. 

From  a  drawing  done  at  Scutari,  on  zinc, 

i8|"  X  i7t". 
Certificate  for  a   Rowing   Club,   F.    B.    litho- 
graph. 
Certificate  for  Shipping   Confederation   of  the 

Port  of  London,  Etching  No.  83.     1906.    On 

copper,    I2|"  X  9"  ;    10    proofs    in    a    Trial 

State  and  the  Published  Slate,  130. 
Certificate  for  the  Master  Shipwrights^  Company, 

Etching  No.  85.     1906.     On  copper,  ll"x 

i6i",  130. 
Cezanne,  a  leading  Post-Impressionist,  so  called, 

and    to   a    certain   extent    a    pupil   of   Paul 

Gauguin,  like  Van  Gogh. 
Chardin,  J.  B.,  1699-1779,  250. 
Charities  are  nurses  only,  while  duties  are  true 

physicians,  200. 
Charlet,  N.  T.,  1792-1845,  72,  195. 
Chateau  de  Bouillon,  Woodcut  45   in   F.   B.'s 

Belgium. 
Chateau   de   fValzin,   Woodcut   43   in    F.    B.'s 

Belgium. 
Chemist  in  his  Laboratory,   V.   B.   woodcut  in 

\'erhaeren's  Les  Villes  Tentaculaires,  226. 
Chimneys  of  Industrialism,  F.  B.  woodcut  in 

Verhaeren's  Les  Filles  Tentaculaires,  226. 
Christ's  Hospital,  F.  B.'s  mural  paintings  at, 

208,  210. 
Church,    The,    two    Brangwyn    woodcuts    in 

Verhaeren's  Les  Filles  Tentaculaires,  226. 
Church,  The,  Nieuport,  Woodcut  14  in  F.  B.'s 

Belgium. 
Church  of  St.  Austrebert  at  Montreuil,  Etching 

No.  98.     1907.     On  zinc,  23!"  x  19I". 
Church   of  St.   Nicholas,   Paris,   uncatalogued 

etching  and  of  recent  date. 
Church  of  St.  Nicholas  at  Dixmude,  Etching  No. 

117.     1908.    On  copper,  26|-"  x  21J'',  148. 
Church  of  St.  Nicholas  at  Dixmude,  Woodcut 

19  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
■Church  of  St.  Nicholas  at  Fumes,  Etching  No. 

119.     1908.    On  zinc,  llj"  x  12";  this  plate 

was  etched  out  of  doors. 


Church  of  St.  Jacques,  Liige,  Woodcut  40  in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Church  of  the  Jerusalem,  Bruges,  Woodcut  13 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Church  of  St.  li'alburge,  Furnes,  Woodcut   17 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium.  230. 
Church  of  St.  Walburge,  Furnes,  Etching  No. 

124.      1908.      On   zinc,    10"  x  14";   etched 

out  of  doors,  94. 
Church  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  Messina,  Etching  No. 

151.     1910.     From  a  water-colour,   28J'  x 

22J",  on  zinc,  156. 
Church  Sta.  Chiara  del  Carmine  at  Taormina , 

Etching  No.  153.    1910.    7J"  x  10",  156. 
Cider  Press,  The,  229. 
Cirq,  St.,  Etchings  of  this  townlet  :    No.  159, 

The  Lot  at ;    No.  160,  Old  Houses  at  ;    No. 

171,  River  Lot  at ;  A  Mountebank,  No.  176  ; 

No.    177,   Some  Bear-leaders;    No.    183,  A 

nilage  Shop;    No.  184,  A  Street  at;    No. 

198,  A  Street  that  looks  dangerous. 
Clennell,  Luke,  1781-1840,  243. 
Claude,   1600-1682,  qualities  of  his  etchings, 

46  ;    overfond  of  '"  animal  animation,"  72, 

85,  87,  245. 
Clausen,  George,  245. 
Clijf'  Village,    A,    Etching    No.    162.      1910. 

Done  from  nature  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  on 

zinc,  ijl"  X  1 8 J",  94. 
Cloisters,  The,  of  Airvault  Church,  see  under 

Airvault. 
Cloth  Hall  at  Tpres,  Interior  of.  Woodcut  49  in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium,  233. 
Cloth  Hall  at   Tpres,  Woodcut   4  in   F.   B.'s 

Belgium,  229. 
Cloth  Hall  at  Nieuport.  Woodcut  16  in  F.  B.'s 

Belgiuvi. 
Clouds  in  etched  work,  87. 
Coal  Mine  after  an  Explosion,  Etching  No.  59. 

1905.     On  zinc,  19"  ■:  24^",  63,  128. 
Collier,  Thomas,  1840-1891,  242. 
Colliers  pushing  Trucks,  Brangwyn  woodcut  in 

Verhaeren's  Les  Villes  Tentaculaires. 
Colliery,   A,    F.    B.    woodcut   in   Verhaeren's 

poems,  226. 
"  CoUingwood,"    by    W.    C.    Russell,     1891, 

Brangwyn  illustrations,  215. 
Colour,    its    renewing   charms,    137  ;     Ingres' 

false  attitude  to  colour,   137;    Brangwyn  a 

colourist  born,  137,  148  ;    colour  in  streets, 

173,    181-183  ;     in    architecture,    173,    174. 

175,  176  ;   in  posters,  181-183. 
Columbus  in  sight  of  the  New  World,  Brangwyn 

lithograph,  198. 

271 


Commerce  in  Harbour,  Brangwyn  woodcut  in 

Les  Villes  Tentacuhires. 
Committees  of  True  Artists  to  watch  over  the 

artistic  welfare  of  towns,  173  et  seq. 
Communion  in  the  Church  of  St.  Medard,  65. 
Connolly's  A  Fisherman  of  Costla,  illustrated 

by  F.  B.,  215.  * 

Constable,  John,  1776-1837,  245. 
Constantinople,  Santa  Sophia,  Etching  No.  71. 

1906.     From  a  drawing,  on  copper,  20|"  x 

Constantinople,  the  Mosque  of  Ortakevi,  on  zinc, 

28I"   X22j". 

Contention,  how  to  determine  its  value,  6  et 

seq. 
Controversy,  how  to  determine  its  value,  6  et 

seq.,  8. 
Copper  and  Zinc,  their  use  in  etchings,   79, 

148. 
Corneille,  62. 
Cornfield  at  Montreuil, Etch'mg'No.  104.     1907. 

From  a  pencil  drawing,  a  zinc  plate,  14"  x 

8|",  84. 
Corot,  Camille,  1796-1875,  65  footnote,  78,  85. 
Cotes,  Francis,  R.A.,  his  pastels,  247. 
Cotman,  John  Sell,  1782-1842,  149,  213,  238, 

242,  253. 
Cottet,  Charles,  one  of  the  "  Intimin  "  Im- 
pressionists   in    the    group     that    includes 

Blanche,     Menard,      Bussy,     Le      Sidaner, 

Simon,  Lobre,  Prinet,  Ernest  Laurent,  Very, 

and  Besnard,  7,  39,  73. 
Couture  and  Manet,  36. 
Cox,  David,  1783-1859,  213,  238,  242. 
Cozens,  John  Robert,  1752-1799  (?),  242. 
Cranach's  heads  too   big   for   the   surface   on 

which  they  are  drawn,  80. 
Crime  in  War,  how  it   should  be  considered 

and  treated  in  posters  and  in  propaganda, 

187-192. 
Cristall,  Joshua,  died  1847,  243. 
Critics,  how  they  might  be  useful,  1 59  ;  public 

officials  should  not  influence  the  markets  by 

writing  as  critics,  174,  175. 
Criticism    and    Art,    see    Introductory,    and 

Chapter  I. 
Criticism   inferior   to   Interpretation,   9  ;     see 

Introductory,  and  Chapter  I. 
Crockett,  S.  R.,  217. 
Crowds  and  their  moods,  158. 
Crowding  to  the  Exchange,  Brangwyn  woodcut 

in  Verhaeren's  Les  Villes  Tentaculaires. 
Crucifixion,  The,  Etching 'No.  1^6.    1912.    On 

zinc,  30J"  X  29^',  16,  27,  28,  76. 

272 


Crucifixion,  The,  Brangwyn  oil-painting,  now 

in  the  collection  of  Captain  Audley  Hervey, 

16,  27,  28  et  seq.,  210. 
Crucifixion,   The,   prefatory   sketch   in   pastel, 

27,  248. 
Cubists,  15. 

Cundall's  book  on  English  water-colour,  235. 
Cupples,  George,  218. 
Customs  and  Conventions,  their  tyranny,  259 

et  seq. 


Damascus,  Garden,  A,  222. 

Damme,  Woodcut  15  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 

DanieU,  WiUiam,  1769-1837,  238. 

Dante,  152,  239. 

Daumier,  1808-1879,  23  footnote,  94,  195. 

Dawn  and  the  Sentry,  Brangwyn  War  Poster, 

196. 
Day,  End  of  the, ElchmgNo.  6%.    1906.    Done 
from    nature    at    Mortlock  ;     a    zinc    plate, 
20"  X  6x". 
Death,    Montaigne    on    Death,    58  ;     Legros' 
etchings    on    the    triumph    of    Death,    64 ; 
Rethel's  prints  on  the  same  epic,  64  ;    La 
Mart  du  Vagabond,  69-70  ;    Death  and  the 
Woodman,  72. 
Decadence  is  many  aspects  of  London,  168. 
Decamps,  Gabriel,  1 803-1 860,  39. 
Decorative  art,  51,  107  et  seq. 
Decoration,  Mural,  51. 
Decoration,    F.    B.'s   passion    for,   87,    107  et 

seq. 
Degas,  Edgar,  35,  36,  81. 
Degroux,  Charles,  36,  196. 
Dehodencq,  Alfred,  39. 
Delacroix,   Eugene,    1798-1863,    23    footnote, 

39,  62,  224,  252. 
De  Loutherbourg,  P.  J.,  1741-1812,  4. 
Delstanche's  The  Little  Towns  of  Flanders,  con- 
trasted with  Brangwyn's  Book   of  Belgium, 
232. 
Democracy,  54,  150,  168,  169,  258. 
"  Democratization  of  Art,"  its  antiquity,  138, 

139,  150. 
Demolition  0}  the  G.P.O.,  London,  uncatalogued 

etching  and  of  recent  date,  132. 
De  Morgan,  WilUam,  175. 
Denis,  Maurice,  31. 
Design,  85. 
Design  and  Industries  Association,  its  useful 

and  necessary  aims,  142,  164. 
Disraeli,  see  under  Beaconsfield. 
Detaille,  Edouard,  195. 


Dewint,  Peter,  1784-1849,  87,  241,  242, 

Dickens,  Charles,  8,  200,  202,  208. 

Diderot,  250. 

Dinant,  Woodcut  44  in  F.  B."s  Belgium. 

Dinct,  E.,  39. 

Dixmud,',  Church  of  St.  Nicholas,  Etching  No. 
117.  1908.  On  copper,  26J"  x  21  J"  ;  pub- 
lished in  Vienna,  loo  proofs  of  the  issue 
being  signed  by  F.  B.  Ten  proofs  were 
taken  before  the  plate  was  sold. 

Dixmude,  A  Canal  at,  sec  under  Canal. 

Dixmude,  The  Parrot  Inn,  sec  under  Inn. 

Dolce  Far  Niente,  F.  B.  picture,  214. 

Door,  A,  at  Cahors,  Etching  No.  158.  1910. 
An  outdoor  study  on  zinc,  9"  x  6|-". 

Doyle,  Dick-y,  213. 

Drink,  two  Brangwyn  lithographs. 

Dujardin,  Karel,  78. 

Dumas  of  "  Monte  Cristo,"  62,  254. 

Duncan,  Breaking  up  H.M.S.,  Etching  No. 
193.  1911.  On  zinc,  32J"  x  2i|".  Etched 
out  of  doors  in  the  winter  of  1911,  at 
Woolwich  ;    1 21;  proofs  published,  41. 

Duncan,  Prow  oj  H.M.S.,  Etching  No.  194. 
191 2.     On  zinc,  isi"  x  12". 

Dunes,  Les,  h  Nieuport,  Woodcut  3  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

Dye  Vat  in  Bruges,  Etching  No.  42.  1904. 
A  sketch  on  zinc,  1 8 J"  x  17J". 


Eastern  Music,  221. 

Easternism,  Brangwyn's,  38,  39,  183,  220,  221 

et  seq.,  236,  237. 
Education  and  the  graphic  arts,  197. 
Egyptian  Art,  its  grandeur,  134,  135. 
Eliot,  George,  97. 
Elizabethan  genius,  5,  20. 
Emotion  in  Art,  16,  see  also  Chapter  I  ;   ssthe- 

tic  emotions  not  the  only  emotions  in  great 

art,  96,  97,  146. 
Empires,  their  natural  dangers  usually  forgotten 

in  bur  country,  220. 
End  of  a  Day  at  Mortlake,  Etching  No.  68, 

20"  x6|",  on  zinc,  129. 
England,     the    masculine    genius    of    earlier 

England,    5  ;     her    present-day   weaknesses, 

149,  169-171,  185,  189. 
England's  highest  wealth  the  character  of  her 

people,  199. 
England's  soul,  199,  200,  212. 
English  Artists,  frequent  preference  for  femi- 
nine  qualities,   5  ;    their   traditions   in   fine 

craftsmanship,  148. 

2    N 


English  character,  far  more  emotional  than  it 
used  to  be  and  far  less  thorough  in  work,  149, 
169-171,  189. 

English  critics  and  Brangwyn,  3. 

English,  The,  People,  their  defects,  l6l,  162, 
163,  172,  189. 

English  tradition  in  fine  craftsmanship,  its 
qualities,  147. 

Enthusiasts,  their  frequent  inability  to  tell  the 
truth,  6. 

Entrance  to  a  Canal,  Bruges,  Etching  No.  44. 
1904.    On  zinc,  16"  x  11". 

Entrance  to  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  105.  1907. 
On  zinc,  154'  x   14"  ;   etched  from  nature. 

"  Eothen,"  by  .'\.  W.  Kinglake,  191 3,  Brang\vyn 
illustrations,  220  et  seq. 

Espalion  Bridge,  1 14. 

Estaminet  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  96.  1907. 
On  copper,  6J"  x  5J  ;   an  outdoor  sketch. 

"Etched  Work  of  Frank  Brangwyn,"  Catalogues. 
The  Newbolt  Catalogue  was  published  in 
1908,  a  very  large  and  heavy  book  in  a 
limited  edition  of  150  copies  at  10  guineas. 
It  ran  out  of  print,  and  the  etchings  increased 
so  rapidly  that  a  new  catalogue  became 
necessary.  This  was  compiled  and  published 
in  1912,  by  the  Fine  Art  Society,  London  ; 
it  is  an  illustrated  record,  and  it  gives  a 
number  to  each  of  200  etchings. 

Etching,  its  early  history,  44^//^^.;  on  printing 
etchings,  48  et  seq. 

Etchings,  Brangwyn's,  opponents  of,  see 
Chapter  II. 

Etchers  who  are  painters  also,  50  et  seq. 

Exodus,  Belgium,  1914,  The,  F.  B.  woodcut,  226. 

Exodus  from  Stricken  Messina,  F.  B.  water- 
colour,  238. 


Fairlight  Glen,  near  Hastings,  Etching  No.  25. 
1904.  On  zinc,  1 2 J"  x  15I",  a  sketch  from 
nature  ;  bending  trees  form  a  round  arch 
through  which  a  distant  headland  is  seen 
against  a  clear  sky.  The  point-work  is 
delicate,  intricate,  even  Rembrandtesque ; 
only  one  proof  exists  of  this  interesting 
study. 

Fair  Wind,  .4,  F.  B.  woodcut,  226. 

"  Falaba  "  sunk  by  a  submarine,  192 

Fallacies  and  Etching  ;   see  Chapter  II. 

Farm,  Gate  of  a,  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  90, 
see  under  Gate. 

Farm  near  Bruges,  Woodcut  5  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 


273 


Farmer,  A,  of  Laroque,  Etching  No.  164. 
1910.  Made  from  nature  near  St.  Cirq-la- 
Popie,  on  zinc,  14I"  x   io|"  ;    94. 

Farmyard,  A,  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  91. 
1907.  Done  out  of  doors,  on  copper, 
I2f"  x8J"  ;  a  few  ducks  and  hens  would  be 
better  than  the  two  labourers,  who  look  too 
big,  dominating  a  good  sketch. 

Fault-finding,  its  psychology,  1 1  et  seq. 

Feast  oj  Lazarus,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

Feast  oj  Lazarus,  Etching  No.  139,  see  also 
under  Lazarus,  63. 

Field  Hospital  in  France,  Brangwyn  War 
Poster ;  the  same  subject  appears  in  the 
portfolio  of  six  tinted  woodcuts  published 
by  the  Fine  Art  Society  in  1915,  194, 
195. 

Fielding,  62. 

Fighting  qualities  of  man.  The,  74. 

Figeac,  On  the  Road  to.  Etching  No.  161. 
1910.     Made  from  nature,  on  zinc,  lo|-"  x 

.!#",  94- 
Fine  Art  Society,  London,  Brangwyn's  British 

agents. 
Finiguerra,  Masso,  45. 
Fire,  Primitive,  and  Industrial  Fire,  F.  B.  mural 

paintings,  212. 
Fisher,  Alexander,  and  his  enamels,  176. 
Fisherman,  Head  of  a.  Etching  No.  12.     1903. 

Done   from  life  at  Aldeburgh,   Suffolk,  on 

zinc,  4"  X  5"  ;    15  proofs  published. 
Fishmongers'  Hall,  104,  105. 
Fishmongers''    Hall,    Etching    No.    50.      1904. 

On  copper,  5"  x  7-j"  ;   a  part  cut  off  London 

Bridge  I,  No.  5,  and  published  in  The  Acorn, 

^OS- 
Flemish    Canal,    A,   Woodcut    50    in    F.    B.'s 

Belgium. 
Flute  Player,  A,  Etching  No.  145.    1909.    On 

copper,  3-^'  x  s|". 
France  and  Frank  Brangwyn,  257. 
Frederic,  Harold,  217. 
Fromentin,  Eugene,  1820-1876,  10,  39. 
Fruit-carriers,  Arab,  F.  B.  lithograph,  129. 
Funeral,  A  Venetian,  Etching  No.   iiia,  see 

under  Venetian. 
Funeral  at  Sea,  Brangwyn  oil-painting,   1890, 

Fumes,  Etchings  done  at  or  of  this  town  : 
Church  of  St.  Nicholas,  see  under  Church  ; 
Apse  of  St.  Walburge,  see  under  Apse ; 
Church  of  St.  Walburge,  see  under  Church  ; 
A  Cafe,  see  under  Cafe  ;  Market,  see  under 
Market  ;    Gatctvay,  see  under  Gateway  ;    A 

274 


Water-carrier,  see  Water  ;    A  Mill,  see  Mill  ; 
Man  with  a  Bagpipe,  see  under  Man. 
Futurists,  classics  the  only  ones,  5. 


Gainsborough,  Thomas,  1 727-1 788,  245,  262. 

Galleon  Fair,  The,  F.  B.  naval  picture,  204. 

Galleons  Sailing  from  Cadiz,  F.  B.  naval  picture, 
204. 

Gand,  Porte  de.  Etching  No.  63.  1906.  Out- 
door study,  on  copper,  1 3 J"  x  1 5 J"  ;  a 
Trial  State  of  five  impressions  and  the 
Published  State. 

Gate,  A,  of  Assisi,  Etching^o.  16.  1903.  On 
zinc,  17"  x  13",  83. 

Gate  of  a  Farm,  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  90. 
On  zinc,  12"  x  9I-",  93. 

Gate,  A,  of  Naples,  Etching  No.  172.  1910. 
From  a  water-colour,  on  zinc,  17^"  x  20J", 
158. 

Gateway  of  Aznla,  recent  etching  not  yet  cata- 
logued, 157. 

Gateway  at  Fumes,  F.  B.  Etching  No.  127, 
9"x  7",  on  zinc,  93. 

Gauguin,  15. 

Gavarni,  94,  1 95. 

Genius  and  Interpretation,  9  ;  sec  also  Chapter 
L 

Genius,  What  is  it  I  4,  5,  138  ;  its  limitations 
in  prolific  workers,  158. 

Genius  in  Brangwyn's  versatility,  2,  3,  5,  143, 
158. 

Gericault's  picture  of  a  shipwreck,  contrasted 
with  F.  B.'s  marine  and  submarine  posters, 

193- 
German  industrial  art,  its  good  qualities,  142. 
Germany  and  British  War  Posters,  194,  195. 
Ghent,  woodcut   I   in   F.   B.'s  Belgium  ;    also 

two    other    subjects    from    the    same    city, 

Castle  of  the  Counts,  and  Belfry  and  Townhall. 
Ghent,  Unloading  Bricks,  Etching  No.  I40,  see 

under  Unloading. 
Ghent,  Old  Houses,  Etching  No.  64,  see  under 

Old. 
Gilbert,  Sir  John,   1817-1897,  one  of  F.  B.'s 

quarter-cousins  in   water-colour,    213,    242, 

243- 

Gillray,  James,  1757-1815,  one  of  F.B.'s  occa- 
sional quarter-cousins  in  water-colour  and  in 
abundant  outlook  on  the  stress  and  strain  of 
a  period,  213,  242. 

"  Girl,  The,  and  the  Faun,"  by  EdenPhillpotts, 
1916,  Brangwyn  illustrations. 

Girls  Bathing,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 


Girls  Dancing.  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

Girtin,  Thomas,  47,  48,    144,   149,    155,  213, 

261. 
Gothic  Sculpture,   15  ;    architecture,  76,  144, 

148,  149. 
Grandeur  in  Art,  104  ;   often  absent  in  British 

sentiment,  105  ;   in  Egyptian  art,  134,  135  ; 

its  value  in  national  character,  163. 
Greece,  Ancient,  9  ;  would  her  influence  have 

been  welcome  in   Brangwyn's   work?    136; 

and  popular  life  in  art,  138. 
Greek  Spirit,  The,  145. 
Guillaumet,     Gustave,     1840-1847,     one     of 

Brangwyn's  kinsmen  in  Orientalist  research, 

39- 
Gurth   and    F.   B.'s  etching  of   .■/  Swineherd, 

»34- 


Hadrian  Building  his  Wall,  Brangwyn  litho- 
graph, 198. 

Hal,  Woodcut  33  in  F.  B.'s  Bdgium. 

Half-timbering  and  "  Magpie  "  Houses,  140. 

Hamerton,  his  remarks  on  Rembrandt,  29. 

Hammersmith,  etchings  done  there  :  Old 
Hammersmith,  No.  128,  igo8,  on  zinc, 
28"  X  22"  ;  Bargebuilders,  No.  28,  1 904,  on 
copper,  3t"  x  41"  ;  Reach,  No.  9,  1903,  see 
below ;  A  Tree,  No.  19,  1903,  on  zinc, 
12"  X  15"  ;  An  Old  Tree,  No.  14,  1903,  on 
zinc,  4"  X  5";  Trees  and  Factory,  No.  11, 
1903,  on  zinc,  16"  x  13". 

Hammersmith  Reach,  Etching  No.  9.  1903. 
On  zinc,  li|"xg|";  north  side  of  river 
above  Hammersmith  Bridge,  showing  land 
now  built  over  ;  only  15  proofs  taken.  This 
etching  was  united  to  a  small  piece  now 
called  Houses  and  Factories,  4^"  x  7^". 

Hannibal,  Breaking  up  H.M.S.,  see  under 
Breaking  Up. 

Harding,  James  Duffield,  1797-1863,  213. 

Harmonics  of  Affinity,  harmonies  of  contrast, 
223,  224. 

Harrison,  Frederic,  on  bad  aspects  of  London 
during  the  War,  162,  168. 

Harvesters,  Brangwyn  lithography,  198. 

Haywain,  A,  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  97. 
1907.  On  copper,  12"  x  gf"  ;  etched  from 
a  drawing  and  published  in  the  earlier 
Catalogue  of  Brangwyn's  Etchings,  a  work 
compiled  in  1908  by  Frank  Newbolt,  and 
now  replaced  by  the  Fine  Art  Society's 
Catalogue  of  1912,  93. 

Head  of  a  Suffolk  Fisherman,  Etching  No.  12. 


1903.     On  zinc,  4"  x  5"  ;  done  from  life  at 

Aldeburgh,   Suffolk  ;     15    proofs   taken.    So, 

81. 
Head  of  a  Jew,  Etching  No.  2.     1900.     On 

zinc,  4"  X  5"  ;    12  proofs  printed,  80. 
Head  of  an  Old  Man,  Etching  No.  13.     1903. 

On  zinc,  5"  x  4";  done  from  life  ;  10  proofs 

printed,  80,  81. 
Head  of  an  Old  Man,  Etching  No.  88.     1907. 

On  zinc,  14.I"  x  13"  ;  a  tender  and  pathetic 

study  from  life  ;    20  proofs  printed. 
Headless  Crtuifi.x,  The,  Etching  No.  152,  12"  x 

1 5 J",  on  copper,  148,  156,  157. 
Headpieces  and  Tailpieces  by  Brangwjn,  219. 
Hearne,  English   painter  and  illustrator,   213, 

242. 
Hemy,  Charles  Napier,  Marine  Painter,  1841- 

1917,  206. 
Henley,  W.  E.,  43,  179. 
Heroic    Style,    The,    necessary    in    naval    and 

military  posters,  195. 
Herrick,  56,  141. 
Hrsdin,  Etching  No.   58.      1905.     On  copper, 

3J"  x  4^"  ;    a  wide  road  bordered  by  trees  ; 

a  sketch  from  nature. 
Hesdin    Canal,   Etching   No.   40.      1 904.      On 

copper,   14J"  X  15:',";    good  study  of  rustic 

architecture    on    the    road    to    Crecy    and 

Agincourt. 
Hobbema,  Meindert,  1638-1709,  84. 
Holland,  James,  1800-1870,  242,  244. 
Homer,  accepts  life  as  war,  62. 
Hospital,  The,   Brangwyn    War  Cartoon,   195- 

196. 
Houghton,  Arthur  Boyd,  1836-1875,  213. 
House  Agents,   they  are  often  at  odds   vvitli 

householders,  164  and  footnote. 
House,  Brozvning^s,  Fenice,  see  under  Brozvning. 
House,  The  Modernised,    its  vulgarity,    166  ; 

we  need  a  revival  of  true  Inns,  206. 
Hugo,  Victor,  62,  65  ;   misunderstands  Millet's 

Semeiir,  122. 
Humour  in  etchings,  94,  132. 
Hunt,  Alfred  William,  1830-1896,  2.^4. 
Hunt,  Holman,  220. 
Hunt,  WilUam  Henry,  1790-1864,  4. 
Hu.xley,  53. 
Huy,  Woodcut  41  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 


Ibbetson,  Julius  Caesar,  1759-1817,  243. 
Ideality  in  art,  what  is  it .'   53. 
Ideas,  great,  in  art,  what  are  they.'   iS^et  seq., 
134,261. 


275 


11  Traghetto,  Etching  No.  175.  191 1.  On 
zinc,  1 41-''  X  151",  146. 

Illusion,  The,  called  Peace,  60  et  seq.,  73  et  seq. 

Image,  Professor  Selwyn,  4  footnote,  72  foot- 
note, 82. 

Imagination  in  national  aims,  often  absent  in 
England,  l6l. 

Immacolata  di  Marmor,  Shrine  of  The  Madonna, 
at  Messina,  Etching  No.  154.  1910.  On 
zinc,  29"  X  23" ;  etched  from  a  water- 
colour,  156. 

Impressionism  and  Impressionists,  7,  15. 

Incheville,  Balisteria  at.  Etching  No.  141  . 
1909.    On  zinc,  10"  x  8i". 

Industrial  Art,  in  Germany,  its  good  qualities, 
142. 

IndustriaUsm,  8,  119^/^-^^.,  121,  122,  141,  142, 
163,  164,  179. 

Influences  at  odds  with  present-day  life,  74. 

Ingres,  Jean  Auguste  Dominique,   1 780-1867, 

35,  36,  137,  138,  I45>  251- 
In  the  Belgian  Trenches,  Brangwyn  War  Poster, 

194. 
//;  the  Trenches  :   British  Wounded,  two  tinted 

woodcuts  in  F.  B.'s  At  the  Front  and  at  the 

Base,  190. 
In  a  War  Hospital,  Brangwyn  War  Cartoon, 

196. 
Inn  oj  the  Parrot  at  Dixmude,  Etching  No.  131. 

1908.    On  zinc,  l\l"  x  2lf"  ;    from  a  draw- 
ing ;  Trial  State  in  two  Impressions  and  the 

Published  State. 
Innovators,  7,  9. 
Inns,  Old  English,  why  they  should  be  revived, 

206  et  seq. 
Instinct,  26,  35  et  seq.,  53. 
Interior  of  the  Church  at  Dixmude,  Woodcut  48 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium,  234. 
Interior  of  the  Cloth  Hall  at  Tfres,  Woodcut  49 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium,  233. 
Interpreters  of  art  are  better  than  critics,  9  ; 

see  also  Chapter  I. 


Jacquemart,  Jules,  as  etcher,  78. 

James,  Henry,  quotation  from  his  lecture  on 

Balzac,  134. 
Jerusalem,  Church  of  the,  at  Bruges,  Woodcut 

13  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Jessopp,  Dr.  Augustus,  179. 
Jew,  Head  of  a,  Etching  No.  2,  1900  ;  see  under 

Head. 
John,  Augustus,  his  masculinity,  5. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  on  English  Inns,  206,  207. 


Johnston,    Edward,    his    studies    in    lettering 

adapted  by  German  enterprise,  142. 
Jones,  George,  R.A.,  1786-1869,  241. 
Journalism,  some  of  its  e\'il  effects,  169,  170  j 

see  also  under  Newspapers. 
Journalism,  Daily,  in  the  work  of  artists,  158  ; 

more  dangerous  to  painters  and  etchers  than 

to  writers,  158. 

Kean,  Edmund,  184. 

Keats  and  Nature,  153. 

Keene,  Charles  Samuel,  1823-1891,  213. 

Kew  Bridge,  Old,  Etching  No.  51.    1904.    On 

zinc,  1 5 J"  X  13". 
Kinglake's  Eothen,   F.  B.  Illustrations  in,  220 

et  seq. 
Kipling,  199. 
Kitchener,  Lord,  Facsimile  of  his  Letter  with 

Designs  by  Brangwyn,  1916. 

Labour,  First  State,  and  Labour,  Second  State, 
Brangwyn  Hthographs,  198. 

Labour  Halls  and  Seamen's  Clubs,  164,  203- 
212. 

Labour  and  Industry  in  Brangwyn's  Art,  119, 
120,  121,  122  et  seq.  ;  see  also  Chapter  IX. 

La  Fontaine  on  the  Poor,  198. 

Lalanne,  Maxime,  his  treatment  of  clouds  in 
etched  work,  87. 

Lamb,  Charles,  1775-1834,  49,  155. 

La  Mort,  F.  B.  woodcut,  226. 

Landing  Men  from  a  Naval  Fight,  Brangwyn 
War  Poster,  194. 

Landscape  painters  and  etchers,  their  frequent 
misuse  of  animate  figures,  70,  71,  72  and 
footnote. 

Last  Boat  from  Antwerp,  The,  Brangwyn  War 
Poster,  194. 

Last  Fight  of  the  Revenge,  The,  218,  219. 

Laveurs  de  Laine,  Brangwyn  hthograph. 

Lawyers,  The,  Etching  No.  142.  1909."  On 
zinc,  23I"  X  iqY  ;  unfinished  plate  in  Three 
States.  1st  State,  half-length  portrait  in 
profile  of  Frank  Newbolt,  in  barrister's  fuU 
rig,  seated  in  court,  a  sympathetic  and  good 
study  ;  2nd  State,  other  heads  indicated  ; 
3rd  State,  the  good  portrait  displaced  by  an 
imagined  lawyer's  head,  sour  and  irritable. 

Lazarus,  Feast  of.  Etching  No.  139.  1908. 
On  zinc,  28"  x  19J"  ;  in  a  Trial  State  of 
Three  Impressions,  with  a  crowd  of  servants 
and  musicians  behind  waiting  upon  rich  men 
who  sit  at  a  long  table  ;  in  a  Published  State 


276 


with  a  changed  background,  a  fiighl  of  steps 
with  figures  displacing  the  earlier  design,  63, 
66. 

Leeds,  213. 

Legtos,  Alphonse,  33  ;  a  parallel  between  him 
and  Brangwyn,  Chapter  III  ;  he  wished  to 
enlarge  to  life-size  by  magic  lantern  the 
etched  portraits  by  Vandyke,  82  ;  his  Bunting 
Fillage,  144 ;  on  the  use  of  copper  and 
zinc  in  etching,  148  footnote  ;  his  etchings 
of  The  Triumph  of  Death,  152. 

Leighton,  Robert,  217. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  82,  137;  his  literary 
emotions,  147  ;    his  versatility,  255. 

Lepere,  his  etchings  of  architecture,  149. 

Lethaby,  W.  R.,  on  shoddy  workmanship,  141  ; 
on  design,    152  ;    on    the    meaning  of   art, 

•59- 
Leverhulmc,  Lord,  200. 
Lewis,  John  Frederick,  R.A.,  1805-1876,  220, 

242. 
Library  and  University  at  Louvain,  Woodcut  37 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Liege  :    Church  of  St.  Jacques,  Woodcut  40  in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Light  and  Colour,  137,  148,  153. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  90. 
Linton,  the  late  Sir  J.  D.,  242. 
Liquor,  its  use  and  abuse,  202. 
Lithographs,  Brangwyn's,  see  Chapter  XIIL 
Lithographs  and  school  education,  197. 
Lloyd's  Registry.  F.  B.'s  mural  paintings  for, 

208,  211. 
Loading  a  Galleoti,  F.  B.'s  naval  picture,  204, 

205. 
London  and  Brangwyn,  see  Chapter  XI  ;   also 

249. 
London  Bridge,  83,  104. 
Londoners,  their  old-time  fondness  for  timber 

houses,    140  ;     their    present    defects,    see 

Chapter  XI. 
Langpre,    Old   Women    at.    Etching    No.    173. 

191 1.    On  zinc,  21"  x  19"  ;    really  a  Second 

State  of  "  Old  Women  at  Bruges,"  No.  65. 
Loo,  Woodcut  22  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Loot,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 
Lord    Howe    sails   from    Spithead,    Brangwyn 

painting,  204. 
Lot,  The  Ri-jer,  Etching  No.   171,  1910  ;   see 

under  River. 
Lot,  'The  River,  at  St.  Cirq,  Etching  No.  1 59; 

see  under  River. 
Lot,  The  River,  at  Vers,  Etching  No.  179.    191 1. 

On  zinc,  6J"x5i",  94. 


Louvain,  Woodcuts  2  and  36  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Loutherbourg,  Philip  James  de,  R.A.,   1740- 

1812,  238. 
Low  Horizons,  too  often  a   trick  in   art,  88, 

89. 
"  Lusitania,"  192. 
Lustred  Tiles  as  notes  of  colour  in  architecture, 

175- 
Lutyens,  2,  173. 


Machines  versus  Men,  119,  120,  121,  122  et 
seq. 

McKewan,  David,  1817-1873,  242. 

Mackmurdo,  A.  H.,  35. 

Maeterlinck,  Maurice,  224. 

Making  Sailors,  a  suite  of  si.x  Brangwyn  litho- 
graphs of  naval  life. 

Malines,  three  woodcuts  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium 
represent  this  city. 

Man  carrying  a  Load  of  Books,  Etching  No.  82. 
1906.  Study  for  a  bookplate,  on  copper, 
sl"  ^~  7iV"  '■>  ^  Trial  State  in  15  proofs,  and 
a  Published  State  in  an  article  by  Roger 
Marx,  "  Gazette  des  Beaux  Arts,"  March, 
1912. 

Man  with  a  Bagpipe,  Etching  No.  134.  1908. 
An  outdoor  study  at  Furnes,  on  zinc,  8"  x 
6".  The  piper  plays  to  some  children  and 
two  men. 

Man  zvith  a  Basket,  and  Man  carrying  a  Box, 
two  Brangwyn  lithographs,  198. 

Man  zvith  a  Hoe,  and  Man  with  a  Pot,  two 
Brangwyn  lithographs,  198. 

Manet,  Edouard.  died  of  locomotor  ataxy, 
April  30,  1883.  A  leader  of  French  Impres- 
sionism, 36. 

Mantegna,  Andrea,  1431-1506,  his  engravings, 
45,  48,  62,  82  ;   and  Millet,  135. 

Maple-tree  at  Barnard  Castle,  Etching  No.  55. 
1901;.  A  study  direct  from  nature,  on  copper, 
14^'  X  105",  89. 

Marcel,  Henri,  his  review  of  Brangwyn's 
etchings,  119;  on  F.  B.'s  art  in  printing, 
128,  129;  on  F.  B.'s  workmen,  136;  on 
F.  B.'s  Old  Houses  at  Ghent,  144. 

Maria  della  Salute,  Santa,  Venice,  for  etchings 
Nos.  108,  no,  118,  see  under  Santa. 

Marie,  Pont,  Paris,  see  under  Pont. 

Marine  Painting,  Brangwyn's,  37  et  seq.,  62, 
69,  70,  117  ;  posters,  191  et  seq. 

Maris,  Mathieu,  8. 

Market  Place,  Algeciras,  Brangwyn  water- 
colour,  237. 

277 


Market  Place  at  Bruges,  Woodcut  7  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

Market  Square  at  Fumes,  F.  B.  Etching  No.  126, 
on  zinc.     1908.     8"x  6",  93. 

Market  Square  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  106, 
1907.  An  outdoor  study,  on  copper,  6"  x  4^'. 

Mars  makes  appeal  to  Fulcati,  Brangwyn  War 
Poster,  196. 

Martin,  John,  1789-1854,  155. 

Master  Shipwrights'  Company,  Certijicate  for, 
130,  see  also  under  Certijicate. 

Mater  Dolorosa  Belgica,  see  double-page  plate. 

Matisse,  33,  42. 

Meal,  The,  F.  B.  pastel,  249. 

Meat  Market  at  Bruges,  Etching  No.  69.  1906. 
On  copper,  1 1"  x  12"  ;  a  Trial  Proof  without 
a  sky  in  10  impressions  ;  the  Published  State, 
with  a  dark  sky,  belongs  to  the  first  Catalogue 
of  F.  B.'s  etchings,  compiled  by  Frank 
Newbolt  and  published  by  the  Fine  Art 
Society,  London,  in  1908. 

Meaux,  Old  Houses  on  Timber  Piles,  see  under 
Old,  143. 

Mehofler  and  Brangwyn,  125. 

Meissonier's  "  La  Barricade,"  224. 

Melodrama,  what  is  it  ?  51  et  seq. 

Melville,  Arthur,  1858-1904,  his  alleged  in- 
fluence on  F.  B.,  235. 

Men  carrying  Fruit,  Brangwyn  lithograph, 
198. 

Men  carrying  a  Plank,  Brangwj'n  lithograph, 
198. 

Alen  Cutting  Corn,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 

Men  in  a  Bakehouse  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No. 
132,  from  a  sketch,  on  zinc,  20"  x  25^',  131. 

Men  on  a  Lighter,  Etching  No.  73.  1906.  Out- 
door study  from  life,  on  zinc,  31J"  x  21J"  ; 
only  two  impressions  taken,  131. 

Men  Spinning,  Br;mgw)'n  lithograph,  198. 

Men  with  Barrels,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 

Men  Unpacking  Bo.xes,  Brangwyn  lithograph, 
198. 

Merchants  and  their  Camels,  222. 

Meryon,  46  and  footnote  ;  his  uncanny  gifts, 
70  ;  his  apprenticeship,  78  ;  he  tests  tin,  79 
and  footnote  ;  his  fondness  for  birds,  86,  87  ; 
Meryon  and  Brangwyn,  93  ;  and  the  sea, 
117,  118  ;   his  literary  emotions,  146,  150. 

Messina  Etchings,  154  et  seq.,  241. 

Messina  Etchings  :  No.  146,  The  Balcony,  1910, 
4"  X  5i"  ;  No.  147,  Via  del  Trombe,  1910, 
23J"  X  2l|-";  No.  148,  Apse  of  Duomo,  1910, 
29!"  X  23J";  No.  ng.  Street  in  Letojanni  near 
Taormina,  13I"  x  ii|";  No.  1^0,  Old  Houses, 

278 


28J"  X  22";  No.  151,  Church  oj  the  Holy 
Ghost,  28f"  X  22J";  No.  152,  The  Headless 
Cruciji.x;  12"  x  15^";  No.  154,  Shrine  of 
the  Immaculate  Virgin,  29"  x  23".  Apart 
from  Nos.  152,  146,  149,  outdoor  studies, 
these  plates  were  made  from  original  water- 
colour  and  other  sketches. 

Messina  Water-colours:  made  after  the 
earthquake  of  1908,  and  exhibited  at  the 
Fine  Art  Society  in  1910,  239  et  seq. 

Mestrovic,  14,  15. 

Metalwork  for  our  streets,  176  et  seq. 

Meunier,  Constantin,  one  of  Brangwyn's  fore- 
runners and  kindred  spirits,  59,  73,  125, 
249. 

Michelangelo,  a  brooding  workman,  16  ;  and 
Brangwyn,  18  ;  his  weight  of  style,  40 ; 
accepts  life  as  a  phase  of  war,  62  ;  his  tre- 
mendous vigour  and  his  love  of  delicate 
trifles,  82  ;   a  mesmeric  master,  135. 

Military  huts,  170. 

Mills  in  history  and  in  art,  96  et  seq.  ;  mediaeval, 
98,  99 ;  French,  99,  100  ;  fortified  mills, 
100;    Rembrandt's,  loi. 

Mill  at  Fumes,  Etching  No.  133.  1908.  An 
outdoor  study,  on  zinc,  15"  x  12",  103. 

Mill,  The  Black,  JVinchelsea  ;  see  also  under 
Black,  loi. 

Millbank,  Mr.,  in  Coningsby,  200. 

Mill-Bridge  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  33.  1904. 
On  zinc,  14"  x  14*";  a  Trial  State  of  five 
impressions  with  a  clear  sky,  and  a  Published 
State  with  clouds  and  with  darker  shadows, 
93,  100. 

Mill-Wheels  at  Montreuil.  Etching  No.  35, 
outdoor  study,  on  zinc,  15^"  x  13",  93,  100. 

Millais,  Sir  John  Everett,  Bart.,  1 829-1896, 2 1 8. 

Millet,  J.  F.,  and  Brangwyn,  contrastive  paralltl, 

135- 
MiUet,  Jean  Francois,  1814-1875,  10,  23  foot- 
note ;    36,  59,  73,  76,  122,  201,  210. 
Mills  at  Montreuil,  Etching   No.    32.      1904. 

Outdoor  study,  on  zinc,  12"  x  13I-". 
Milton,    John,    1608-1674,    ^'^    mighty    and 

magnificent  speech,  5,  16,  56,  62. 
Miners  at  Work  Underground,  Etching  No.  87. 

1907.    Study  from  life,  on  zinc,  27I-"  x  19^", 

128. 
Moat,    The,   Uncatalogued   etching  of   recent 

date. 
Modernity  or  Modernism,  often  out  of  scale 

with  to-day's  life,  3  ;  its  foes,  3  ;  its  recent 

movement«,  14  ;   its  defects,  19,  20,  41,  74  ; 

its  value,  20,  21. 


Modernism,  excessive,  31,  74. 

Modern  life  not  friendly  to  art,  71. 

Monet,  Claude,  leader  of  French  Impressionism 

in  the  study  of  sunlight,  37,  40. 
Monk  preaching  to  a  Throng  of  H'orkmni,  F.  IJ. 

woodcut,  226. 
Monks,   Seven,   Ktching   No.    114.      190^.     A 

rapid    study    of    differing    characters    and 

figures,  on  zinc,  6"  .-.  "j^". 
Monks,  Ttvo,  in  Earnest  Talk,  Etching  No.  115. 

1908.    A  rapid  sketch  in  outline,  on  copper, 

2|"  X  2j". 

Monochrome  wash,  F.  B.  drawings  in,  245. 

Mons,  Woodcut  52  in  F.  B.'s  Brangwyn. 

Montaigne,  i;S,  225. 

Montreuil  in  F.  B.'s  Etchings  :  No.  32,  1904, 
The  Mills  ;  No.  33,  1904,  Mill-Bridge  ; 
No.  35,  1904,  Mill-Whecls  ;  No.  92,  1907, 
Bootmakers ;  No.  96,  1907,  Estaminet  ; 
No.  97,  1907,  .-/  Haycart  ;  No.  98,  1907, 
Church  of  S:.  Justrebert ;  No.  103,  1907, 
Church  cf  St.  Sauhe ;  No.  105,  1907, 
Entrance  to  ;  No.  132,  1908,  Men  in  a  Bake- 
house ;  No.  104,  1907,  J  Cornfield;  No. 
106,  1907,  Market  Square;  No.  34,  1904, 
A  Road. 

Monument,  The,  in  a  Belgian  Town,  F.  B. 
woodcut  in  Verhaeren's  poems,  226. 

Monument,  The,  London,  Etching  No.  200.  1912. 
Looking  westward  from  the  top  of  Fish 
Street,  with  the  tower  of  St.  Magnus  in  the 
distance  ;  a  zinc  plate  17J"  x  28".  There 
are  two  States  of  this  typical  Brangwyn, 
besides  a  trial  proof  in  two  impressions. 
First  State,  20  proofs,  with  radiating  light 
from  behind  a  dark  storm-cloud  ;  Second 
State,  100  proofs,  cumulus  clouds  displace 
the  light  that  radiates,  87,  143. 

Moore,  Albert,  1841-1893,  242. 

Moods  in  Art,  27. 

Moonlight  in  a  Turkish  Cemetery,  222. 

Moorish  Well,  A,  Brangwyn  water-colour, 
236. 

Morgan,  William  dc,  the  late,  and  colour  in 
architecture,  175. 

Morland,  George,  1763-1804,  36. 

Morley,  Lord,  on  grandeur,  104  footnote  ;  on 
a  grave  British  weakness,  162  ;  on  intem- 
perate legislation,  202. 

Morris,  William,  aids  Brangwyn,  35  ;  his 
example  ably  adapted  by  members  of  the 
German  Werkbund,  142. 

Mosque  of  Ortakevi  at  the  Entrance  to  the 
5w^^orMJ,  Etching  No.  185.     1911.    From  a 


drawing,  on  zinc,  284"  x  22J"  ;  125  proofs 
published,  144,  145,  147. 

Mountebank,  A,  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  F-tcliing 
No.  176.  191 1.  .A.  humorous  sketch  from 
life,  on  zinc,  loj"  x  9i",  94. 

Mouth  of  the  Scheldt,  Woodcut  28  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

Mowers,  Brangw-yn  lithograph,  198. 

Miiller,  William,  1812-1845,  one  of  F.  B.'s 
quarter-cousins  in  water-colour,  33. 

Mullgardt's  Court  of  the  Ages,  Panama  Ex- 
hibition, F.  B.'s  mural  paintings,  208,  211, 
212. 

Municipal  control  over  advertisers  and  adver- 
tisements, 178. 

Municipal  showrooms  for  the  best  work  done 
by  towns,  their  necessary  service,  164. 

Mural  Decoration,  208,  211,  212. 

Music  and  the  graphic  arts,  23,  24. 

Music,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 

Musician,  A  Beggar,  see  under  Beggar. 


Namur,  Woodcut  42  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Naples,  A  Gate  of.  Etching  No.   172.     1910. 

See  under  Gate. 
Naples,  A  Back  Street  in  Naples,  Etching  No. 

191.     191 2.     See  under  Back  Street. 
Napoleon,  62. 
National  Welfare  and  .4rt,  see  Chapters  XIII 

and  XIV. 
National   Institute   for   the   Blind,   Brangwyn 

cartoons  for,  195,  196. 
Nash,  Joseph,  1808-1878,  213. 
Nativity,  The,  Etching  No.   199.     191 2.     On 

zinc,  28J"  x  2iYi  16,  30,  76. 
Nativity,   The,  Study   for,  253  ;   see   also  the 

double-page  plate. 
Nature,  her  hours  of  peace  in  years  of  struggle, 

6,  90. 
Nature-worship,  often  sentimental,  90. 
Naval  Posters,  their  great  value,  179  ;   not  yet 

frequent,  185  ;   Brangwyn's,  191  et  seq. 
Navy,  Our,  as  an  inspiration  in  architecture, 

176. 
Nelson,      Horatio,      1758-1805,      215,      216; 

Southey's  Life  of,  with   Brangwyn  illustra- 
tions, 191 1,  219. 
Neuf,  Pont,  Paris  ;   see  under  Pont. 
Neuve   ChapcUc,   At,   Brangwyn  War    Poster, 

194. 
Newbolt,  Frank,  compiler  of  the  first  catalogue 

of  F.  B.'s  etchings,  251  footnote. 


279 


Newman,  Cardinal,  1801-1890,  on  the  very 
"  safe  "  man,  177  ;  his  perfect  charity  of 
kindliness,  240. 

Newspapers,  their  bad  influence,  53,  61  foot- 
note, 168,  169,  171,  189  et  seq. 

Nieuport,  Barges,  see  under  Barges. 

Notre  Dame,  Church  of,  at  Eu,  Etching  No.  143. 
1909.  On  zinc,  30J"  x  23^' ;  Trial  State 
of  Two  Impressions  in  which  lanterns  hang- 
ing from  a  line  appear  ;  Published  State, 
without  the  lanterns;  150  proofs,  148, 
149. 

Notre  Dame  at  Eu,  water-colour,  246. 

Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  recent  etching,  on  zinc, 

29fV'  X  ^iH".  150. 

Notre   Dame   de   Poitiers,    Etching    No.    201, 

7\i"  X  9H"'  156. 
Notre  Dame  de  Tours,  Etching  No.  204,  8if "  x 

Hi"- 

Nurses  and  the  Wounded,  three  tinted  woodcuts 
in  F.  B.'s  "  At  the  Front  and  at  the  Base," 
published  in  191 5  by  the  Fine  Art  Society, 
London,  190  footnote. 

Nympholepts  of  Democracy,  Politicians  as,  199 


Old  Hammersmith,  Etching  No.  128.  1908. 
On  zinc,  28"  x  22"  ;  from  a  drawing  made 
below  Hammersmith  Bridge  ;  80  proofs 
published  ;  a  Trial  State  in  two  impressions 
and  the  Published  State,  now  very  scarce, 
131,  132,  148,  153 /■iJ^?. 

Old  Houses  on  Timber  Piles  in  the  River  at 
Meaux,  Etching  No.  217,  14I"  x  11  J",  143, 

157- 

Old  Houses  at  Dixmude,  Etching  No.  121. 
igo8.  On  zinc,  ji"  x  6"  ;  low  and  long 
cottages  with  two  lean-to  projections  ;  a 
big  wagon  on  the  same  plane  ;  in  the  fore- 
ground a  barge  and  men  at  work  :  a  fat 
and  free  sketch  in  line  done  out  of  doors, 
119. 

Old  Houses  at  Ghent,  Etchmg  No.  64.  1906. 
On  copper,  24"  x  2lf"  ;  a  Trial  State  in 
five  impressions  and  the  PubUshed  State  in 
150  proofs,  now  very  scarce,  143,  144,  148, 
153  <•<  seq. 

Old  Houses  at  Messina,  Etching  No.  150.    1910. 

;    On  zinc,  28|-"  x  22"  ;    from  a  water-colour 

'    sketch  of  the  ruins  made  by  earthquake,  155. 

Old  Houses  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  Etching  No. 
160.2  1910.  On  zinc,  lof"  x  14^"  ;  etched 
out  of  doors,  94. 

Old  Houses'lat   Taormina,  Etching  No.    157. 

280 


1910.  On  zinc,  10"  x  8"  ;  in  the  left  fore- 
ground, in  cool  shadow  thrown  by  a  wall, 
some  laundry  women  ;  a  street  runs  ahead 
to  some  elderly  houses  with  high  roofs  and 
cosy  balconies ;  a  rapid  sketch  done  out  of 
doors. 

Old  Timber  Houses  at  W alberswick,  Suffolk, 
Etching  No.  I.  1901.  On  zinc,  ii|"  x 
1I5";  first  Trial  State  in  two  impressions 
and  the  Published  State  in  25  proofs. 

Old  Kew  Bridge,  Etching  No.  51.  1904.  On 
zinc,  1 5 J"  X  13"  ;  etched  on  the  spot  ; 
three  arches  of  the  fine  old  bridge  are  seen 
behind  a  row  of  pleasure  boats  and  a  tem- 
porary timber  bridge  partly  built,  112. 

Old  Man,  An,  Etching  No.  4.  1900.  On  zinc, 
4"  X  12";  head  and  shoulders  in  profile; 
10  proofs  taken. 

Old  Man,  Head  of  an.  Etching  No.  13,  see 
under  Head. 

Old  Man,  Head  of  an.  Etching  No.  88,  see 
under  Head. 

Old  Roadsweefers  at  Hammersmith,  Etching 
No.  192,  on  zinc,  10^"  x  gj",  132. 

Old  Street  at  Antwerp,  Woodcut  29  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium,  231. 

Old  Tree,  An,  at  Hammersmith,  Etching  No. 
14.  1903.  On  zinc,  4"  x  5"  ;  done  out  of 
doors,  79,  80,  81,  83,  143. 

Old  Women,  Bruges,  Etching  No.  65.  1906. 
On  zinc,  19"  x  21"  ;  etched  on  the  spot ; 
in  the  second  state,  now  known  as  "  Old 
Women,  Longpre,"  No.  173,  the  women 
behind  are  scraped  and  burnished  away,  66, 
68. 

Old  Wooden  House  at  Tpres,  Woodcut  21  in 
F.  B.'s  Belgium. 

Olive  Trees  of  Avignon,  85. 

Oliver,  F.  S.,  on  the  misuse  of  posters,  169. 

"  Omar  Khaiyam,"  222. 

On  London  Bridge,  Etching  No.  22.  1904. 
On  zinc,  5"  x  4"  ;   see  under  London. 

On  the  Road  to  Figeac,  Etching  No.  161.  1910. 
On  zinc,  lof"  x  i4|-"  ;  etched  from  nature 
on  the  right  bank  of  the  River  Cebe,  94. 

Oostcamf,  Woodcut  11  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 

Opie,  how  he  misunderstood  Rembrandt,  123. 

Optimism,  true  and  false,  58. 

Orange  Market  at  Jaffa,  221,  246. 

Organ  Grinder,  An,  at  Hammersmith,  Etching 
No.  47.  1904.  Onzinc,  I3t"x  154";  done 
from  hfe  in  a  street. 

Oriental  Boy,  Etching  No.  136.  1908.  On 
copper,  3I'  X  si". 


Orientalism,    Brangwyn's,    38,    39,    183,    220, 

221  et  seq.,  236,  237. 
Orientalists,  British,  few  in  number,  and  many 

needed,  220,  221. 
Orientalists,  French,  many  in  number,  their 

great  value,  220,  221. 
Originality,  what  it  is,  4,  5. 
Orphelinat   des   Armh's,   two    Brangwyn   War 

Posters  done  for  a  French  Charity,  196. 
Ostade's  etchings,  50. 


Paleolithic  Art,  138,  139. 

Palais  des  Archives  at  Malines,  Woodcut  25  in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium,  230. 
Palermo,  Castello  della  Ziza,  Etching  No.  30  ; 

see  under  Castello. 
Paper,   coloured,   its   use   in  drawing   and   in 

water-colour,  237,  238. 
Paper  Mill  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  93.    1907. 

On  zinc,  22-|"  x  20-}"  ;    etched  on  the  spot, 

93.  130,  131- 
Parallelism  in  Art,  59. 
Paris,  Pont  Marie  and  Pont  Neuf,  see  under 

Pont. 
Parker,  Gilbert,  217. 
Parliament  of  the  Dead,  A,  17. 
Parmigiano,  45. 
Parrot  Inn,  The,  at  Dixmude,  Etching  No.  131, 

on  zinc,  14J"  x  2i|-"  ;  done  from  a  drawing  ; 

a  Trial  State  of  two  impressions  and  the 

Published  State,  113. 
Parthenay,  A   Tannery  at.  Etching   No.   202, 

9ib"  ^  7'H"  ;   ^  ^^''y  8°°'^  study. 
Parthenay,  Parte  St.  Jacques,  see  under  Porte. 
Parthenay,   Washhouses   at,   see   under    IFash- 

houses. 
Pastels,  Brangwyn's,  see  Chapter  XVIII. 
Patriotism,    the    highest    appears    in    honest 

thorough  work,   143  ;    French  and  British, 

220. 
Peace,  The  Illusion  called,  60  et  seq.,  73  et  seq., 

161. 
Pearson,  Sir  Arthur,  and  F.  B.'s  War  Cartoons, 

195. 
Pennell,  Joseph,  125. 
Periods  in  the  life-work  of  an  artist,  26  et  seq., 

34  et  seq. 
Perronneau,  J.  B.,  1715-1783,  250. 
Phare,   Le,   Nieufort,   Woodcut   6  in   F.   B.'s 

Belgiuvi. 
Philippe  de  Comines  on  England's  mediaeval 

archers,  195. 

2    O 


Picardy,  A  Road  in.  Etching  No.  10,  see  under 

Road. 
Pigsty,  A, Etchingfio.  ^S-    I904-    On  copper, 
6J-"  X  4J"  ;    etched  on  Wormwood  Scrubbs 
and  published  in  The  Venture. 
Pinwell,  George  John,  1842-1875,  213,  218. 
Piranesi,  Giambattista,  1720-1778,  his  character 

as  engraver  and  etcher,  47,  149. 
Pissarro,  Camille,  Impressionist,  37. 
Platelayers,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 
Plein  Air  Movement,  7. 
Pont  des  Baudets,  Bruges,  Woodcut  8  in  F.  B.'s 

Belgium,  232. 
Pont  Marie,'  Paris,  Etching,  23-^0"  x  20^^"^;"  ; 
a  bridge  with  niches  above  the  cutwaters  ; 
in  the  foreground  four  well  studied  tree- 
trunks  with  drooping  foliage  ;  also  a  great 
heap  of  sand,  with  horses  and  men  at  work, 
115. 
Pont  Neuf,  Paris,  Etching,  29!-"  x  21;",   "5. 

116,  117,  154. 
Pool,    The,    Brangwyn    lithograph,    first    ver- 
sion. 
Pool,  The,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  second  version, 

first  state  ;    also  a  later  state. 
Poor,  The  Genuine, often  right  in  their  attitude 

towards  good  work,  169. 
Portaels,  Jean,  and  his  fame  as  a  teacher  of 

art,  35  ;   one  of  his  good  sayings,  158. 
Porte  de  Gand,  Etching  No.  63.     1906.     On 
copper,  1 3 J"  X  15I"  ;    etched  out  of  doors  ; 
a  Trial   State  of  five  impressions  and   the 
Published  State. 
Porte  St.  Croi.x,  Bruges,  Etching  No.  62.    1906. 
On  copper,  10"  x  14"  ;    done  out  of  doors ; 
a  Trial   State  of  two  impressions  and  the 
Published  State,  119. 
Porteroque,  A  Farmer  oj.  Etching  No.  164  ;  see 

under  Farmer. 
Porte  St.  Jacques,  Parthenay,  Etching  No.  203, 

loir  X  9ir.  156. 

Portfolios  of  F.  B.'s  War  Posters,  their  utihty 

considered,  197. 
Portrait  Painting,  252,  262. 
Port,  The,  F.  B.  woodcut  in  Verhacren's  poems, 

226. 
Posters,  by  Brangwyn,  for  the  U.S.  Navy,  192, 

193- 
Posters,  their  misuse  during  the  War,  168  et 

seq.,  177. 
Posters  as  Aids  in  National  Service,  170,  178, 

179  et  seq.,  186. 
Posters,  principles  governing  their  designs,  181- 

187. 

281 


Posters,  Taxes  on,  would  be  just  and  useful, 

177,  178. 
Posters,  War  Posters  by  Brangwyn,  see  Chapter 

XIII. 
Post-Impressionism,  14,  15. 
Post  Office,  London,  Demolition  of.  Etching  No. 

212,  see  under  Demolition. 
Potter,  Paul,  1625-1654,  his  etchings,  50,  86, 

88. 
Praise  and  censure,  their  psychology,  11  et  seq. 
Preacher,   A,   Etching   No.    57,    5"  x  9j"  !     ^ 

rough  sketch  of  a  turbaned  man  addressing 

a  crowd  of   turbaned  figures,  seated  on  the 

ground. 
Preault's  witty  attack  on  Ingres,  145. 
Pre-Raphaelites,  Modern,  5,  7. 
Prettiness   in   posters,    it    is   greatly   liked   in 

England,  185. 
Pride  of  Craft,  the  healing  cement  of  society 

and  the   soul  of   toil,    121  ;   its   neglect   in 

modernised  England,  142,  143. 
Printing  etched  work,  48  et  seq.  ;    F.  B.'s  art 

of  printing,    128,    129  with   footnote,    152, 

Procession  m  a  Spanish  Church,  65. 

Prodigal  Son,  The,  Etching  No.  163,  on  zinc, 

7^'  X  6'  ;   a  man  seated,  and  leaning  against 

the  back  of  a  sow,  who  is  surrounded  by  her 

litter  ;    in  the  background,  low  cliffs  and  a 

river.    Study  for  a  picture. 
Prodigal  Son,  The,  Etching  No.  iS^.^  on  zinc, 

l^y  X  loj"  ;    study   for   the  same   picture, 

and   a    forerunner    of    The   Swineherd,   No. 

215. 
Prout,  Samuel,  213. 
Prow  of  H.M.S.   Duncan,   Etching   No.    194. 

1912.    On  zinc,  153"  x  12". 
PubUcity  Craze,  The,  168-171. 
Piurta  de  Passage,  Spain,  F.  B.  water-colour, 

236. 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  not  altogether  great  in 

mural  art,  109. 
Puy,  A  Street  in  Puy,  Etching  No.  213,  llj"  x 


"  Q.,"  his  story  in  "Tales  of  Our  Coast,"  217. 
Ouai  Vert,  Bruges,  232. 
Queen  Elizabeth,  219. 


Rackham,  Arthur,  213. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  218. 

Ravine,  A  Swiss,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

282 


Reade,  Charles,  200. 

Rebuilding    Belgium,    Brangwyn    War    Poster, 

Recruiting  Slackers,  Brangwyn   War   Cartoon, 

195- 

Refugees  leave  Antwerp,  Brangwyn  War  Posters, 
194. 

Regamey,  Guillaume,  195. 

Regan  and  Goneril,  18,  19. 

Regnault,  Alexandre  Georges  Henri,  1843- 
1871,  39. 

Rehglous  art,  16,  18,  25  et  seq.,  33,  66. 

Rembrandt,  1606-1669,  his  "  Three  Crosses," 
28  ;  his  "  Entombment,"  29  ;  his  heaven- 
worthiness,  46 ;  his  feeling  for  scale  and 
size,  47  ;  etches  as  he  paints,  50  ;  his  sub- 
tlety, 54 ;  and  Vandyke,  55  ;  accepts  life 
as  war,  62  ;  his  wee  etchings,  82 ;  and 
Brangwyn,  125. 

Representation,  40  et  seq. 

Return,  The,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 

Return  from  the  Promised  Land,  Brangwyn  oil- 
painting. 

Return  from  the  Raid,  Etching  No.  170.  1910. 
On  copper,  1 3I"  x  1 1  f'  ;  sketched  from  a 
group  of  Nativity  figures  set  up  on  a  balcony 
at  Mola,  and  composed  as  a  line  of  moving 
figures  against  a  huge  curving  hlU  crowned 
with  a  fortress.  Leonardo  da  Vinci  tells 
us  to  study  the  stains  of  plaster  on  walls 
as  an  aid  in  landscape  design. 

Return  from  Work,  Etching  No.  107.  1907. 
On  zinc,  31I-"  :<  21J"  ;  etched  from  a 
number  of  studies  made  in  a  London  ship- 
yard, 63,  131. 

Revolt,  A.,  F.  B.  brush  drawing,  224. 

Revolt,  A.,  F.  B.  Woodcut  in  Verhaeren's 
poems,  226. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  1723-1792,  his  feeHng 
for  paint,  31  ;  as  portraitist,  55  ;  misunder- 
stands Rembrandt  and  Poussln,  122. 

Rialto,  Fenice,  Etching  No.  72.  1906.  On 
copper,  from  a  drawing,  13"  x  151";  150 
proofs  pubHshed,  145. 

Ricardo,   Halsey,   and   colour   in   architecture, 

175- 
Richmond,  Sir  William  Blake,  R.A.,  235. 
River  Lot  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  Etching  No.  159, 

on  zinc,  10"  x  8",  89. 
River  Lot,  Etching  No.  171.     1910.    On  zinc, 

9f "  X  8"  ;    done   from   nature  ;     100  proofs 

published,  90. 
Road  at  Montreuil-sur-Mer,  Etching   No.   34, 

on  zinc,  13^^'  x  loJ/,  93- 


Road,  A,  in  Picardy,  Etching  No.  lo.     1903. 

On  zinc,  141'  x  12*  ;   from  a  drawing  made 

at  Longprc  ;    in   the   first  state,  60  proofs, 

the  sky  is  plaiii  and  the  pLite  is  bitten  lightly  ; 

in  the  second,  2  proofs  only,  the  sky  is  full 

of  storm  and  rain,  83,  86,  87,  88. 
Road,   On   the,   to   Figeac,   Etching   No.    161. 

igio.      On    zinc,    and    done    from    nature, 

I0|"  X  14^-",  94. 
Roads'joeefers   at   Hammersmith,    Etching   No. 

192.     1912.     On  zinc,  done  out  of  doors, 

loi"  X  9^",  132. 
Robert,  Leopold,  91. 
Roberts,  Lord,  168,  172. 
Roberts,  David,  1796-1864,  213. 
Robertson,    Sir    William,    his   appeal    from    a 

poster,  168. 
Robin  Hood  Ballads,  141. 
Robinson,  G.  T.,  the  late,  and  ship  decoration, 

203. 
Rodin,  his  views  on  Art,  240. 
Rogers,  Thorold.  on  medixval  mills,  99  foot- 
note. 
Rolland,  Romain,  on  J.  F.  Millet,  201. 
Rolls  of  Honour,  a  few  designed  by  Brangviyn, 

196. 
"  Romance,  Tlie,  of  Alexander,"  its  mediaeval 

iUustrations,  98,  99,  127. 
Ronda,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 
Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  !828-l882,  213. 
Rossos     and     Primatices     s.t     Fontainebleau, 

210. 
Rowing    Club,     4,    Certificate  for,    Brangwyn 

Hthograph. 
Rowlandson,  Thomas,  1756-1827,  36,  85,  213, 

Rubbish  in  modernized  workmanship,  163, 
164  ;  its  sale  by  advertisement  should  be 
forbidden,  177. 

Rubens,  Peter  Paul,  1577-1640,  7,  15,  18,  37, 
49,  62,  82,  125,  126. 

Riiim  of  Fillers  ^4bbey,  Woodcut  35  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

Ruins  oj  a  Church  at  Oude  Stuyvenking,  Wood- 
cut 51  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 

Ruskin,  John,  1819-1900,  40,  >6  ;  on  Rubens, 
57  ;  on  armed  strife,  73  ef  seq.  ;  and  social 
progress,  200. 

Russell,  John,  1744-1806,  247. 

Russell,  W.  Clark,  and  Br:ir.gwyn,  214,  215, 
217. 

Rutot,  Professor,  and  Prehistoric  Man,  197. 

Ruvsdael's  etchings,  50  ;  his  fondness  for  oaks, 
71,  78,  85. 


St.  Aidan's  Church,  Leeds,  F.  B.'s  mural 
paintings,  208,  210. 

St.  Ambrose  training  his  Choir  at  Milan,  F.  B. 
mural  painting,  208. 

St.  Augustine's  Conversion,  F.  B.'s  mural  paint- 
ing, 208. 

St.  Augustine  at  Ebbsfleet,  F.  B.'s  mural  paint- 
ing, 208. 

St.  Austrebert  at  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  98. 

1907.  On  zinc,  23I"  x  19J". 

St.  Croix,  Porte,  Bruges,  Etching  No.  62.  1906. 
An  outdoor  study  on  copper,  10"  x  14",  in 
Two  States.  In  a  Trial  State  of  two  impres- 
sions the  round  towers  of  the  Porte  St. 
Croix  are  shown  in  the  distance  ;  they  are 
omitted  from  the  Published  State. 

St.  Jacques  a  Liege,  Woodcut  40  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

St.  Leonard's  Abbey,  near  Tours,  Etching  No. 
206,  23 J"  X  29J",  150,  151  et  seq. 

St.  Nicolas  d  Dixmudc,  Etching  No.  117.  1908. 
On  copper,  26^^"  x  2 1  J".  Published  in 
Vienna  by  the  Gesellschaft  fiir  vervieljulti- 
gendc  Kiinst,  a  hundred  proofs  being  signed 
by  the  etcher,  together  with  ten  proofs  of 
a  smaU  EngUsh  edition  ;  a  good  many 
unsigned  proofs  arc  in  the  market. 

St.  Nicolas  du  Chardonnet,  Paris,  recent  etching 
not  yet  catalogued,  154. 

St.  Nicolas  d  Fumes,  Etching  No.  119.  1908. 
An  outdoor  study  on  zinc,  1 1  J"  x  12"  ;  80 
proofs  published. 

St.  Paul  arrives  at  Rome,  F.  B.'s  mural  painting, 
208. 

St.  Paul  reaches  shore  after  shipwreck,  F.  B.'s 
mural  painting,  208. 

St.  Peter's  of  the  Exchange  at  Genoa,  a  recent 
etching  and  uncatalogued,  154. 

St.  Rombaut,  Malines,  Woodcut  27  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

St.  Saulve,  Montreuil,  Etching  No.  103.  1907. 
On  zinc,  10.5"  x  17". 

St.  Simeon  Stylites,  229. 

St.  Walburge  a  Furnes,  W"oodcut  27  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgiu7n. 

St.  Walburge  d  Furnes,  Etching  No.  124.  1908. 
An  outdoor  study  on  zinc,  10'  x  14"  ;  80 
proofs  published. 

St.  IValburge,  Apse  of,  Furnes,  Etcliing  No.  120. 

1908.  An  outdoor  study  on  zinc,  17"  x  15"  ; 
100  proofs  publislied. 

St.   Wilfrid  and  the  Southern   Saxons,   F.    B.'s 

mural  painting,  210,  211. 
Sand-Dredger,  Brangwyn  lithogr.-iph. 

283 


Sandshoot,  A,  Etching  No.    138.      1908.     On 

zinc,  23i"  X  19^',  131. 
Santa  CInara  del  Carmirir,  Taormina,  Etching 

No.  153.     1910.    On  copper,  yj"  x  10". 
Santa  Maria  ddla  Salute,  I^enice,  the  big  plate, 

Etching  No.  118.     1908.     On  zinc,  311"  x 

2li",    119,   146,    148. 

Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  Venice,  the  small 
plate,  Etching  No.  108.  1907.  On  copper, 
H^x  11",  146,  147,  148. 

Santa  Maria  della  Salute  from  the  Street,  Etch- 
ing No.  no.  1907.  On  copper,  17I"  x 
22"  ;    100  proofs  published,  147,  148. 

Santa  Sophia  at  Constantinople,  Etching  No. 
71.     1906.     On  copper,  2o|"  x  i8|-",  144. 

Sargent,  J.  S.,  7. 

Sawyers  in  a  Shipyard  at  Boulogne,  Etching 
No.  43.     1904;  on  zinc,   i8|"  x  22|",  121, 

131- 

Scaffolding  at  South  Kensington,  Etching  No. 
49.  1904.  An  outdoor  study  on  copper, 
5"  X  7",  published  in  The  Acorn,  127. 

Scheldt,  Across  the.  Woodcut  31  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium . 

Scheldt,  Mouth  of  the.  Woodcut  28  in  F.  B.'s 
Belgium. 

Schools  in  art,  why  valuable,  25. 

Scoffers,  The,  Brangw'n  oil-painting,  2 1 7. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  62,  134. 

Scourging  of  St.  Allan,  The,  F.  B.  mural  paint- 
ing, 210. 

Sculpture  and  Prehistoric  Man,  197. 

Scribner^s  Magazine,  Brangwyn's  work  for, 
203-205,  214,  215,  219. 

Sculptural  form  in  Nature  and  in  Art,  138. 

Sea,  The,  in  F.  B.'s  art,  37,  117,  203,  204  et 
seq. 

Seamen's  Clubs  and  Labour  HaUs,  164,  203- 
212. 

Sects  in  art,  25,  31. 

Sensier's  "  Life  "  of  Millet,  10. 

Sentimentality,  British,  185. 

Sex,  Genius  and,  4,  5,  158. 

Shade,  F.  B.  picture,  214. 

Shakespeare,  how  he  borrows  hints  and  ideas 
for  plots,  4  ;  his  graphic  poetry,  12  ;  and 
the  whole  aesthetic  truth,  18,  25  ;  his  tem- 
perament, 51  ;  accepts  life  as  war,  62  ;  his 
genius,  134;  his  blend  of  realism  with  the 
spirit  of  fairyland,  145,  146,  153  ;  his  love 
of  England,  189  ;  on  England's  soul,  199  ; 
on  Art  and  Nature,  218. 

Shell,  A  Bursting,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  195. 

Shelley  and  Nature,  153. 

284 


1912. 


Ship,    Building   a.   Etching    No.    195. 
On  zinc,  35^"  x  27J". 

Shipbuilding  Yard  on  the  Lozver  Thames,  Etch- 
ing No.  26.  1904.  On  zinc,  23 J'  x  17J", 
in  Four  States,  123. 

Shipping  Federation,  Certificate  for  the,  Etching 
No.  83.     1906.     On  copper,  I2|-'  x  9",  130. 

Shoddy  and  its  bad  effects  on  national  honour 
and  efficiency,  163,  164  ;  its  sale  by  adver- 
tisement should  be  forbidden,  177. 

Shop,  A  P'illage,  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  an  out- 
door sketch  on  zinc,  14J"  x  11^-". 

Shrine  of  the  Immaculate  Virgin  at  Messina, 
from  a  water-colour  sketch.  Etching  No. 
154.     1910.     On  zinc,  29"  x  23'. 

Sighs,  Bridge  of,  E.tchrng'i^o.  i%i.  1911.  On 
zinc,  I7l"x27|";  100  proofs  published, 
now  very  scarce. 

Simon,  Lucien,  "  Intimist  "  Impressionist,  and 
one  of  F.  B.'s  affinities,  7. 

Singer,  Bookplate  for  Victor,  on  copper,  53-"  x 

Singer,  Dr.  H.  W.,  on  Vandyke's  etchings,  55. 

Sisley,  Alfred,  a  leader  of  the  Impressionists, 
not  yet  rated  at  his  true  higii  level  ;  he  has 
been  overshadowed  far  too  much  by  Monet, 
Manet,  Degas,  Pissarro,  and  Renoir.  His 
art  is  well  bred,  and  his  feeling  for  light  is 
beautiful  and  unassertive.  In  other  Im- 
pressionists the  bourgeois  element  is  too 
evident  as  a  rule,  Manet  excepted. 

Sketch  of  a  Workman  in  Bruges,  from  life. 
Etching  No.  41.    1904.    14'  x  14-I-''. 

Sketch  of  a  Belgian  Workman  in  a  Broad- 
brimmed  Hat,  from  life,  on  copper,  3J"  x 
5  J^"  ;   published  in  La  Grande  Revue,  Paris. 

Sketches,  too  often  sold  without  discrimina- 
tion, 241. 

Skinners'  Hall,  F.  B.'s  panel  decorations,  208. 

Skinscrapers,  Brangwyn  lithograph,  198. 

Skinscrapers  I,  Etching  No.  79.  1906.  On 
copper,  5J"  X  7f "  ;  done  on  the  spot  at 
Brentford;    published  in  Vienna,  130. 

Skinscrapers  11,  Etching  No.  80.     1906. 
copper,    4^^"  x  6" ;     etched     from    life 
Brentford,  131. 

Slackers  in  a  Brangwyn  War  Cartoon,  195. 

Slave  Market,  Brangwyn  picture,  215. 

Slave  Traders,  Brangwyn  oil-painting,  38. 

Solitary  Prisoner,  A,  Brangvcyn  War  Poster 

Southey's  Life  of  Nelson,  219. 

Spanish  Galleon,  The,  204. 

Spanish  Wine  Shop,  A,  Brangwyn  lithograph, 
198. 


On 

at 


"  Spliced  Yarn,  A,"  by  George  Cupplcs,  1899, 

F.  B.  Illustrations,  218. 
Standards,  Metal,  for  electric  light  in  streets, 

176. 
StaufFer-Bern,  his  heads  too  big  for  the  surface 

on  which  they  arc  drawn,  80. 
Steel  Making,  Brangvvyn  lithograph,  198. 
Stevedores,  aquatint  on  zinc,   catalogued  No. 

190.     1911.     17"  X  12",  132. 
Stoning  of  Stephen,  The,  F.  B.  mural  painting, 

208,  210. 
Storm,  A,  etching  by  Legros,  70,  71. 
Storm  near  Craven  Cottage,  Fulham,  Etching 

No.  29.    1904.     18J"  X  18",  71,  89. 
Stothard,  213. 
Strand  on  the  Green,  Etching  No.  48.      1904. 

An  outdoor  study  on  copper,  4"  x  3"i'(y 
Street,  Old,  in  Antwerf,  Woodcut  29  in  F.  B.'s 

Belgium. 
Street  in  Puy,  uncatalogued  etching  of  recent 

date,  157. 
Street  in  Tours,  uncatalogued  etching  of  recent 

date,  157. 
Street  near  Taormina,  Etching  No.  149.     1910. 

On  copper,  134"  x  11  J"  ;   done  out  of  doors 

at  Letojanni.     See  also  under  Messina. 
Street  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie  II,  Etching  No.  198, 

on  copper,  8"xl2".     191 1.     A  street  that 

looks  dangerous,  156,  157. 
Street  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie  I,  Etching  No.  184, 

on  zinc,  \\"  x  6°  ;  a  sketch  of  little,  straggling 

houses  with  a  narrow  gutter  between  them, 

94- 

Street,  A  Back,  in  Naples,  Etching  No.  191. 
1912.  An  outdoor  sketch  on  copper,  gl"  x 
8". 

Streets  as  revealers  of  national  character,  164, 
165,  see  also  Chapter  XII  ;  colour  in  the 
aspects  of  streets,  173  et  seq.  ;  F.  B.'s  con- 
cern for  our  streets,  164,  165,  see  also 
Chapter  XII. 

Strikes,  162,  167,  172. 

Studio  Magazine,  249. 

Submarine  Menace,  Brangwyn  War  Poster,  192. 

Submarines  in  F.  B.'s  posters,  190,  191,  192, 

193- 

Sunlight,  the  most  searching  and  remarkable 

effect  of,  40. 

Sunday,  F.  B.  water-colour,  235. 

Sunshine  and  Shadow :  A  Venetian  Funeral, 
Etching  No.  III.  1907.  On  copper,  26^"  x 
22-|-"  ;  only  10  proofs  published  ;  afterwards 
altered  into  No.  1 1 1  a  and  called  .4  Venetian 
Funeral. 


Supernatural,  The,  its  treatment  in  art,  152, 

153- 
Swift,  Dean,  155. 
Szvineherd,  A,  unpublished  etching  and  of  recent 

date  ;    to  be  compared  with  Nos.   163  and 

163A,  The  Prodigal  Son,  39,  133. 
Swing,    The,   Etching    No.    168.      1910.      On 

zinc,  8"  x  5'  ;    done  from  nature  at  Portc- 

roque  in  France. 
Swiss  Ravine,  A,  Brangivyn  lithograph. 


Tagore's  nature-worship,  90. 

"  Tales  of  our  Coast,"  1896,  F.  B.  illustrations, 
217. 

Tanagra  statuettes,  138. 

Tanpit,  A,  at  Bruges,  Etching  No.  76.  1906. 
Sketched  from  life  on  a  zinc  plate,  23J"  x 
19I",  129,  130. 

Tanyard,  A,  at  Brentford,  on  zinc,  15 1"  x  12s  ; 
only  35  proofs  taken,  as  the  other  side  of 
the  plate  was  occupied  by  another  etching. 
No.  8,  Barkstrippers  at  Port  Mellan,  Cornwall, 
and  printing  this  latter  subject  destroyed 
the  surface  from  which  the  Tanyard  was 
printed,  80. 

Tannery,  A,  at  Parthenay,  uncatalogued  etch- 
ing of  recent  date,  132,  157. 

Taormina,  Street  near.  Etching  No.  149.  1910. 
An  outdoor  study  at  Letojanni,  on  copper, 
1 3-4"  X  il|".     See  also  under  Messina. 

Taormina,  Sta.  Chiara  del  Carmine,  Etching 
No.  153.     1900.    On  copper,  7J"  x  10". 

Taormina,  Old  Houses,  Etching  No.  157.  1910. 
An  outdoor  study  on  zinc,  10"  x  8"  ;  looking 
up  a  street  to  old  balconied  houses  with 
high  roofs ;  in  the  left  foreground,  in 
shade  thrown  by  a  wall,  a  group  of  laundry 
women. 

Taormina,  Bridge  at  Alcantara  near.  Etching 
No.  156.  1910.  An  outdoor  study  on  zinc, 
1 6 J"  x  13".     See  also  under  Bridge. 

Tapping  a  Furnace,  Brangwjn  lithograph,  198. 

Tapping  a  Steel  Furnace,  Brangwyn  lithograph, 
198. 

Tarn,  Bridge  over.  Etching  No.  180.  1911. 
Outdoor  study  on  zinc,  (A"  x  5^". 

Tayler,  Frederick,  1 802-1 889,  243. 

Technical  inspiration,  I,  30,  31. 

Tenniel,  213. 

Tiepolo's  etchings,  50. 

Tin,  Meryon  tested  its  use  in  plates  for  etching, 
79  footnote. 

Tintoret,  1519-1594,  7,  18,  62,  76. 


285 


Ttrlemont,  Woodcut  39  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 

Titian,  18,  55,  62,  245. 

Toledo,  A  Bridge  at,  uncatalogued  etching  of 

recent  date,  115. 
Toledo,  F.  B.  water-colours  of,  244. 
Topical  subjects  in  posters,  186. 
Topographical  draughtsmen,  English,  141. 
Topographical   drawings,    their    value    in    the 

history  of  architecture,  141. 
Tour  de  Faure,  Etching  No.  182.     191 1.    Out- 
door study  on  copper,  13I"  x  10". 
Tournay,  Woodcut  46  in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Tower  Bridge,  London,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 
Tower  of  St.  George  at  Dixmiide,  Woodcut  30 

in  F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Towns,  Vast,  not  friendly  to  artists,  8. 
Tow-rope,    The,   at   Bruges,   Etching   No.    75. 

1906.    Study  from  life,  on  zinc,  31I-"  x  2l|-", 

68,  69,  121,  122. 
Trade  on  the  Beach,  229. 
Tragedy  in  things  inanimate,  69,  70,  71,  72 

and  footnote. 
Traghetto,  II,  Venice,  Etching  No.  175.     1911. 

On  zinc,  145"  x  15I"  ;   100  proofs  published, 

146. 
Transport,   Going  on  hoard  a,  Brangwyn  War 

Poster,  195,  196. 
Tree,   A,   at  Hammersmith,   Etching   No.    19. 

1903.    On  zinc,  12"  x  15",  83. 
Tree,  A,  at  Brentford,  Etching  No.  18.     1903. 

On  zinc,  13"  x  16". 
Tree,  An  Old,  at  Hammersmith,  Etching  No. 

14.     1903.    Outdoor  study  on  zinc,  4"  x  5". 

See  also  under  Hammersmith. 
Trees  in  etching,  85. 
Trees  and  a  Factory  at  Hammersmith,  Etching 

No.  II.     1903.    On  zinc,  16"  x  13",  83. 
Trees  in  Snow,  Etching  No.  24.     1904.     Out- 
door study  on  copper,  ^i"  ^  4i">  89. 
Triangular  architecture,  231. 
Truisms,  their  great  and  neglected  value,  6, 

II. 
Truth-seeking,  its  perils,  6. 
Turkish  Cemetery,  A,  at  Scutari,  Etching  No. 

31.     1904.     Done  on  zinc  from  an  original 

drawing,  i8|"  x  lyf",  92. 
Turkish  Fishermen's  Huts,  F.  B.  picture,  215, 

221. 
Turner,  J.  M.  W.,   1775-1851,  thought  Httle 

about  originality,  4  ;    his  time  not  a  great 

friend  to  him,  8  ;  how  he  studied  a  great 

storm  at  sea,  risking  his  life,  38  footnote  ; 

his    admiration    for    Girtin,    48  ;     how   he 

trained  engravers,  49  ;   his  etching,  78  ;   not 

286 


satisfied  with  colour  and  form,  146,  147  ; 
he  speaks  to  a  lady  about  colour,  153  ;  his 
delight  in  transparency,  238  ;  his  feeling 
for  tragedy,  240  ;  his  good  habit  of  treasur- 
ing his  jottings  and  sketches,  242  ;  his 
pedigree,  245. 

Two  Men  Drinking,  F.  B.  lithograph. 

Two  Vagrant  Musicians,  Etching  No.  144. 
1909.    On  zinc,  5"  x  7". 

Twopeny,  William,  his  great  merit  as  a 
draughtsman,  141. 

Two  Turks,  Etching  No.  137.  1908.  On 
zinc,  16J"  X  I2|",  92. 


Ugliness  and  art,  41. 

Ulenspiegel,  230. 

Unique,  The,  in  art,  46,  138,  228. 

Unloading  Bricks  at  Ghent,  Etching  No.  140, 

on  zinc,  26f"  x  22|-",  132. 
Unloading  a  Case,  London  Bridge,  Brangwyn 

lithograph,  198. 
Unloading  Orange  Boxes,  Brangwyn  lithograph 

in  sepia,  198. 
Unloading  Orange  Boxes,  Brangwyn  lithograph 

in  black,  198. 
Unloading  Wine  at  Venice,  Etching  No.   109. 

1907.    On  zinc,  14"  x  10',  93,  146. 
U.S.A.,  Brangwyn's  posters  for  the  U.S.  Navy, 

192,  193. 


Valentre  Bridge  at  Cahors,  Etching  No.  178. 
1911.  On  zinc,  32"  x  2l|' ;  etched  from 
a  water-colour  ;  a  First  State  in  100  proofs 
and  a  Second  State  in  25  proofs,  114. 

Valley  of  the  Lot,  F.  B.  water-colour,  238. 

Vandyke's  Etchings  and  their  great  Qualities, 
46,  50,  55,  56,  80,  81,  82. 

Van  Gogh  and  the  Post-Impressionists,  16,  23, 
81. 

Vat,  The  Dye,  Etching  No.  42.  1904.  On 
zinc,  i8t"  X  17I"  ;  a  rapid  study  of  move- 
ment and  light  etched  from  a  drawing  made 
in  Bruges. 

Velasquez,  18,  55,  62. 

Venetian  Boats,  Etching  No.  116.  1908.  On 
zinc,  9y'  X  6\"  ;   etched  on  the  spot. 

Venetian  Funeral,  A,  Etching  No.  ill  a.  1907. 
On  copper,  26J"  x  22J"  ;  really  a  Second 
State  of  Sunlight  and  Shadow,  No.  in,  the 
domes  of  Santa  Maria  della  Salute  displacing 
the  balconied  houses,  146. 


''  Vengeur,  The,"  went  down,  Br.ingwyn  naval 
picture,  204. 

Venice  in  art,  145  ct  seq.  ;  F.  B.'s  Venice,  145 
et  seq. 

Venice,  Etchings  of  Venice  :  A  Canal,  No.  155, 
1910,  on  zinc,  8J"  x  61"  ;  Browning's  House, 
Palazzo  Resonica,  No.  197,  1 91 2,  on  zinc, 
18"  X  27J' ;  Boatbuilders,  No.  112,  1907, 
on  zinc,  2Sf'  x  2o|"  ;  A  Boatyard,  No.  113, 
1907,  on  zinc,  27 1"  x  19^"  ;  Venetian  Boats, 
No.  !i6,  1908,  on  zinc,  9i"  x  6i"  ;  The 
Rialto,  No.  72,  1906,  on  copper,  13"  x  15J"  ; 
II  Traghctto,  No.  175,  191 1,  on  zinc,  14^"  x 
15^";  Unloading  Wine,  No.  109,  1907,  on 
zinc,  14"  X  10'  ;  Santa  Maria  della  Salute, 
large  plate.  No.  118,  1908,  on  zinc,  31^"  x 
21^" ;  Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  small 
plate.  No.  108,  1907,  on  copper,  14^"  x 
11";  Santa  Maria  della  Salute  from  the 
Street,  No.  no,  1907,  on  copper,  ijl" 
X  22". 

Verhaeren,  the  Belgian  poet,  on  "  The  Black 
Mill,"  102  footnote  ;  on  F.  B.'s  attitude  to 
Industry  and  Labour,  120,  121,  122; 
defends  the  F.  B.  etchings,  123  ;  his  poems 
illustrated  by  F.  B.,  226  ;  on  Delstanche's 
book,  232  ;   on  Brangwyn,  236. 

Vers,  The  River  Lot  at.  Etching  No.  179.  191 1. 
On  zinc,  6^'  x  5i",  94. 

Versatility,  34,  66  ;  the  world  distrusts  it,  75, 
see  also  Chapter  XIX  ;  comparison  between 
this  agent  in  Legros  and  F.  B.,  75  ;  in 
F.  B.'s  interpretations  of  architecture,  143  ; 
in  his  drawings,  253  ;  see  also  Chapter 
XIX. 

Via  del  Trombe,  Messina,  Etching  No.  147. 
1910.  On  zinc,  23^"  x  21J"  ;  etched  from 
a  water-colour  made  after  the  earthquake 
of  1908,  155. 

Victoria  and  Albert  Museum,  Building  the,  see 
under  Building,  128. 

Victorianism,  8,  31,  53. 

Village,  A  Cliff,  Etching  No.  162.  1910.  On 
zinc,  17J'  X  18^-"  ;  done  on  the  spot  at  St. 
Cirq-la-Popie.     See  under  Cliff,  1 94. 

Village  Green,  A,  Etching  No.  165.  1910. 
On  zinc,  l\^'  x  lof"  ;  done  at  St.  Cirq-la- 
Popie,  France,  94. 

Village  Shop  at  St.  Cirq-la-Popie,  Etching  No. 
183.  1911.  14!"  X  ilj";  etched  out  of 
doors  ;  a  Trial  State  of  one  impression  and 
the  Published  State,  94. 

Vow,  A,  of  Vengeance  against  Air  Raids, 
Brangwyn  War  Poster,  196. 


Wakefield,  Sir  Charles,  194. 

IValberswick,  Old  Houses,  Etching  No.  1 .    1900. 

On  zinc,  1 1  J'  x  iif"  ;   a  Trial  State  of  Two 

Impressions   and   a    Published   State   of   25 

proofs,  140,  143. 
Walburge,  St.,  .-Ipse  of,  at  Furnes,  see  under 

Apse. 
Walburge,  Church  of,  at  Furnes,  Etching  No 

124.      1908.     On  zinc,    10"  x  14';    etched 

on  the  spot ;   80  proofs  published. 
Walburge,  Church  of,  at  Furnes,  Woodcut  17  in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Walker,  Frederick,  1840-1875,  213. 
Walzin,  Chateau  de.  Woodcut  43  in  F.   B.'s 

Belgium,  234. 
War,  its  highest  aim,  188. 
War,  its  many  phases,  see  Chapter  III  ;    in- 
dustrial   warfare,    142  ;     armed    strife    and 

reformation,  161  ;  war  posters,  187  et  seq. 
Washhouses  at  Parthenay,  France,  Etching  No. 

211,  9J"  X  11'  ;   on  zinc,  132. 
Washing  Skins,  Brangwyn  lithograph. 
Watch  Committees  of  Artists,  172-179. 
Water   Carrier,    Etching    No.    130,    on    zinc, 

9"  X  7"  ;    etched  at  Furnes, 
Water-colour,  English,  119;    see  also  Chapter 

XVII. 
Water  Festival,  An  Italian,  219. 
Watermills,  97. 

Wedmore,  Sir  Frederick,  54  et  seq. 
Weekly    Dispatch,    The,    F.    B.   water-colour, 

236. 
Weight  of  Style,  40,  85. 
Wellington,  143  footnote. 
Wheatlcy,  85. 
Whistler,  James  Abbott  McNeill,   1 834-1 903, 

46,  131,  171,  238. 
Wilkie,  Sir  David,  213. 
Wilson,  Richard,  245. 

Winchelsea,  The  Black  Mill,  sec  Black  Mill. 
Windmill  at  Dixmude,  Etching   No.    123,   on 

zinc,    29|"x2l5";     loo    proofs   published, 

75,  98- 
Windmills  in  Art  and  Nature,  96  et  seq.,  212. 

Windmills,    Bruges,    Etching    No.    70.      1906. 

On   zinc,    20|"  x  i8|"  ;     etched    at    Bruges 

from  a  prefatory  sketch,  102. 
Windmills,    Bruges,    Woodcut    12    in    F.    B.'s 

Belgium,  230. 
Windmills,  Furnes,  103. 

Wine,  Unloading,  Venice,  sec  under  Unloading. 
Wood,  F.  Derwent,  174. 
Woodcuts,    189  and    190    footnote  ;    see   also 

Chapter  XVI. 

287 


Woodcuts,  Brangwyn's,  227  et  seq. 

Wooden  House  at  Ypres,  Old,  Woodcut  21  in 

F.  B.'s  Belgium. 
Wordiness  in  posters  and  other  advertisements, 

183,  184. 
Workmen,  Industrial,  how  they  are  aflfected  by 

the  tyranny  of  machines,  I19,  120,  121,  122 

et  seq. 


"  Wreck  of  the   Golden   Fleece,"   by  Robert 

Leighton,  1893,  F.  B.  illustrations,  217. 
Writers  on  art,  their  office,  8,  9,  24. 

Zeeman  as  an  etcher,  78. 

Ziem,  39. 

Zinc  and  copper,  their  use  in  etching,  79,  148. 

Ziza,  Castello  della,  Palermo,  see  under  Castello. 


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